


A Friend in the Dark

by Sabulana



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Fae & Fairies, Gobblepot Halloween, M/M, Magic Realism, Slow Burn, Vampire!Jim, Vampire!Oswald, Werewolves, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-01-26 23:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12568904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sabulana/pseuds/Sabulana
Summary: When Jim gets shot while chasing a murderer down a dark alley, he thinks it's the end. It should be.But Oswald isn't ready to let his old friend go just yet.Unknown to both of them, they're about to set off a series of events that will change Gotham's secretive underbelly forever, and Jim will finally learn the true value of walking with a friend in the dark.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how to write anything short anymore.
> 
> This is the start of my entry for the Gobblepot Halloween event. I have no idea how long it will be, but it's definitely not going to be short, lol.
> 
> Endless thanks to [thekeyholder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder) for betaing, encouragement and plotting help. You're a star. <3
> 
> Tags will be updated as necessary. Also, slow burn means as slow as I can stand.

Getting shot hurt. Jim was already aware of this, but lying in a wet alleyway one October night, he was hyper aware of it. 

At least, until he lost too much blood, and things started getting fuzzy and dark. It happened faster than he thought. 

Or maybe he was losing time. He heard that happened when you were dying. 

A pale face appeared in his vision.

“Jim!”

Oswald. He never apologised. He should do that, before the end. Make sure Oswald knew he was sorry.

“Apologise later,” Oswald said, voice thick with emotion. 

But that didn't make sense. There wasn't going to be a later.

And anyway, Oswald hated him.

“Don't be stupid. I… well, maybe I'm not happy with you sometimes, but I don't hate you. We're two sides of the same coin, you and I.”

Oswald pulled Jim upright, into a sitting position. 

“That's why I can't let you go. I'm sorry there isn't more time for explanations,” Oswald said.

Jim rested limply against him, and dimly realised that Oswald was bleeding from a small wound on his neck.

“Yes, Jim. Drink. Please.” Oswald pressed Jim’s head forward. 

Too far gone to do otherwise, Jim drank until Oswald pulled him back and the world went dark. 

* * *

 

Jim dreamt of Gotham, of dark streets and moonlight. There was no one around, but his footsteps echoed as though someone was just a step behind him.

He blinked his eyes open and found himself in a dimly lit bedroom, far fancier than anywhere he had ever lived. 

Was he alive?

“Don't try to speak. Drink,” a soft, familiar voice urged. 

A straw was placed in front of his lips, and whatever was in the cup smelled incredible. Greedily, he sucked the liquid into his mouth. What was that? He'd never had anything like it.

He tried to ask, when he was finished, but a cool hand pressed him down into the bedsheets.

“Sleep. You need your rest, James.”

“But — “

“It can wait.”

Jim was helpless to resist the pull of sleep any longer.

He awoke a few more times after that, unsure how much time was passing, but each time, he became more and more aware. He knew Oswald was looking after him, that he must be at the Van Dahl mansion, Oswald’s home, but he still didn't know how he had got there, or what Oswald was feeding him.

Then he awoke to shouting. 

It was so loud, he thought it must have been happening right outside the door. It took him a moment to realise that what he could hear was Harvey shouting at Oswald. 

“I know you've got him here! What I don't know is why!”

“I assure you, Detective, that Jim is perfectly fine in my care,” Oswald replied, all cold fury. “Now get out of my home.”

“Not until I see him, and understand why you didn't take him to a hospital, or left him to die. You think he's going to be so grateful for your tender, loving care that he's going to roll over and do whatever you say?”

“Of course not,” Oswald said. “I have met him, after all. But… ah… he is unwell, and I am uniquely capable of dealing with his affliction.”

Jim stumbled out of bed. Maybe if Harvey could see him, he would stop shouting so loudly. 

The hallway outside the bedroom was empty.

“More like you're poisoning him!”

“I would never!”

Jim followed the voices. Was Oswald poisoning him? He did feel strange. 

He reached the stairs, and was overcome with dizziness. Oswald and Harvey hadn't noticed him yet, too busy glaring at each other. 

“Then why is no one allowed to see him? How do I even know he's alive?” Harvey asked.

“Harvey…” Jim croaked.

Both of them spun sharply to see him leaning heavily against the banister at the top of the stairs. 

“Jim! You shouldn't be out of bed!” Oswald rushed up the stairs to him.

Harvey gaped. “Geez, you look like death, Jim.”

“I feel weird,” Jim mumbled. “Hungry.” He frowned. “Thirsty?”

“I'll bring your tonic in a moment, Jim. Go back to bed,” Oswald said, quietly but firmly. 

“No,” Jim said. “I’m fine. I just need to…” 

He trailed off. What did he need to do? 

Harvey started to come up the stairs, and found a creaky step that Oswald had managed to avoid. The sound was so loud it was painful, cutting through Jim like nails on a chalkboard. He gasped, cringing away from the noise, instinctively curling into Oswald. 

He could hear Oswald’s heartbeat, he realised. 

And Harvey’s, though Harvey was still some paces away.

What was going on?

“As you can see, he's very unwell,” Oswald said. “He's very sensitive to sounds, as well as light, so it's imperative that he remains here with me, away from the noise of the main city until he's well enough to return. And he will return.”

“And what else is wrong with him?” Harvey asked, suspiciously. “How do I know you're not drugging him or something?”

“Detective Bullock, I know Jim and I have our differences, but I'm not out to kill him, or otherwise harm him.” 

A wave of agony swept through Jim, turning his vision black. When he finally regained enough control, it was to find that he was clinging to Oswald, gasping harshly.

“- no shape to go anywhere,” Oswald was saying irritably. 

“Fine, fine, but I'll be back to check on him,” Harvey replied. 

“Of course. I'll let you know when he's able to have visitors,” Oswald said,calming again now that Harvey had backed down. “I'll take him back to bed. I trust you can see yourself out.”

“Yeah, sure. I'll come back soon, Jim.”

Jim nodded, but didn't say anything. Everything still hurt, and he didn't trust himself not to cry out in pain. 

After a moment, Harvey left and Oswald helped Jim up off the floor. 

“Back to bed,” Oswald said. “You shouldn't have got up at all. Stubborn fool.”

Jim tried to respond, but then Oswald was lowering him down onto the soft mattress.

“I'll be back in a moment, with something for you to drink. Stay here.”

Jim wasn't sure he could have protested if he wanted to. He watched Oswald leave the room, and then it seemed he had only blinked and Oswald was back with a cup and a straw.

Jim drank without being prompted, feeling better almost as soon as the liquid hit his tongue. 

“What is that?” he asked, relaxing back into the pillows.

“Later. Go back to sleep. You need more rest,” Oswald replied.

Jim was helpless to resist. He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted, and fell asleep.

Once again, he was in the eerily quiet streets of Gotham. He recognised his surroundings now, standing in front of the precinct. This time though, he knew he was not alone. 

“Better to walk with a friend in the dark.”

The footsteps behind him were a comfort in the dark city.

* * *

 

The next time Jim awoke, he felt much better, but still subtly off somehow.

He took in his surroundings properly; the ornate furniture, panelled walls, heavy drapes pulled closed across the windows, yet somehow still not keeping out much daylight. 

He sat up, but didn't have the chance to get up before Oswald appeared. 

“You look better,” he greeted, oddly nervous. 

“I feel better, I guess. Still strange, though, and… I don't remember how I got here.” Jim frowned, trying to think back to his last memories before waking up with Oswald hovering over him. 

Oswald hurried up to him. “I… there is a lot to tell you. I don't know how to begin.” He sank into an armchair by Jim’s bedside.

“I was shot,” Jim remembered. “A guy I was chasing, he'd murdered his girlfriend. He shot me, lucky hit…” He pressed a hand to his stomach, remembering the pain. “I was sure I was dying.”

“You were,” Oswald said quietly. “I saved you.”

Jim pushed the blankets back, pulling up the pajama top he was wearing (he didn't recognise it. Was it Oswald’s? But it couldn't have fit Oswald, surely. Did he buy it for Jim?), to see unblemished skin. “There should be a mark. A scar. How long have I — “

“A week,” Oswald said. “You've been here for a week.”

Jim looked up sharply. 

“You feel a bit strange, right? Like something’s off, but not in a bad way,” Oswald said. 

Jim nodded.

“I remember how it felt. You'll get used to it soon. You won't want to go back to how you were before.”

“What do you mean? What are you talking about?” Jim asked, suspicion warring with fear in his gut.

Oswald gave him a look of such profound regret that Jim began to wonder if he was dying after all. 

“If I had had any other choice,” Oswald began. “I would have explained this to you beforehand, let you make the decision… but I cannot lose you, James. I couldn't let you die like that.”

“What are you talking about?” Jim asked. 

Oswald said nothing, but stood up and crossed the room to the window. He threw open the curtains to let the daylight into the room.

Except it wasn't daylight, Jim realised. It was bright enough, but what he saw through the window was not the sun at all, but a full moon.

As if it in a trance, Jim rose from the bed to look out of the window. He looked up at the moon, noticing details he had only picked up on when looking at enlarged photos. He viewed the garden with a similar level of attention to detail, picking out moths fluttering around the flowers, a fox in the shadows on the far side of the gardens hunting a rabbit he was sure he would never have been able to spot otherwise. 

“Your sight is enhanced,” Oswald said. “Your other senses too. You'll perceive everything beyond normal human capabilities. You're stronger, faster, immune to all human diseases and you'll heal faster from most injuries.”

“I don't understand. What are you talking about?” Jim asked, growing frustrated.

“You're a vampire, Jim. Like me.”

“Oswald!”

“I'm telling the truth, Jim,” Oswald said. “Look!”

He opened his mouth, pulling his lips back to reveal sharp fangs. 

Jim stumbled backwards, unable to believe his eyes. “What? How? I don't understand.”

It was wrong, unnatural. There was no way Oswald was a vampire. Vampires didn't exist. They were just stories. 

Oswald closed his mouth, turning away with a hurt expression. “It's true. I'm a vampire, and so are you.”

“But I can't be. How. Why.”

“You were dying, Jim. What else was I supposed to do?” Oswald asked. “You and I — we’re tied together.”

“You're lying. This is a trick or —  or a dream or Scarecrow’s toxin or —  or something.” Jim hit the wall. “It's not real. It's not. There's no such thing as vampires.”

“You'll get used to it,” Oswald replied. “And in time, maybe you'll see it for the blessing it is.” He turned away, heading for the door. “I'll bring you something to drink soon. In the meantime, think over what I've told you.”

“Don't you mean ‘someone’?” Jim snarled harshly. 

Oswald shrugged. “You're not up to hunting yet.”

The door shut behind him, leaving Jim alone in the moonlight. 

* * *

 

It was a little while before Oswald returned. Jim half considered looking for him, but he didn't want to run into anyone else. 

He couldn't be a vampire. A tentative exploration of his mouth with tongue and fingers proved he didn't have fangs.

But then, he could have sworn that Oswald didn't either, and yet…

No. It was a trick.

Oswald had given him wide smiles before and he'd definitely not had fangs then. Jim would have noticed.

But there were things he couldn't explain. The detail he could pick out across the wide expanse of Oswald’s garden, the sounds he could hear  —  the uneven footsteps of Oswald downstairs somewhere, the sounds of an old house settling that seemed so much louder than they should. 

He didn't have fangs. He didn't drink blood. He wasn't a vampire.

He heard Oswald coming before he saw the handle turn. He had a cup with him, and a straw.

“Your change is pretty much complete,” Oswald said. “And I still have much to explain. Drink, and then we can talk more.”

Oswald held the cup out. Jim could smell the contents, the same delicious elixir he had been drinking since Oswald brought him here, but now he was aware enough to look at it. 

Blood looks black in moonlight. 

Jim gasped and this time, he felt his canines elongate. He touched one gently, alarmed.

“What — ?”

“Drink,” Oswald said. “It will help. You can't go too long without it, especially not when the change is so recent.”

Jim took the cup and sipped tentatively through the straw. Perhaps he could pretend he was drinking juice or something. 

But there was no juice like this. It had a metallic tang, but it was pleasant, and an underlying sweetness. He'd tasted blood before, and it hadn't been like this. 

Before he knew it, Jim had drained the cup. 

“I've had to supplement it with my blood, while your body changed, but soon you won't need that,” Oswald said.

“I'm not a vampire,” Jim said. “I can't be.”

“You are,” Oswald said. “Not that it has to change much right now. You'll have to stay here until you're up to going back to the city. It's quite harsh on the senses, until you get used to it, but out here, it's better.” 

Jim sank down on the bed. “I still don't accept this. I can't. Vampires aren't real.”

“Well, too bad. The reality is that we are real. We exist, and now you're one of us!” Oswald snapped. Jim saw a flash of his fangs in the moonlight.

“Okay, okay. Say I accept that this is real, not some elaborate prank… What happens now?” Jim asked.

“Now, I teach you all I know about being a vampire,” Oswald said. “Tonight, we talk and if you're up to it tomorrow, we'll take a walk around the grounds.”

Jim nodded. “Okay. So, talk.”

“I told you about your enhanced senses,  yes?”

Jim nodded. 

“You'll notice that more in the city, maybe even find it overwhelming. The stench, the sounds, the bright lights  —  it can all get a bit much. Food as well. It's best to stick to bland things until you can handle all the different flavours.”

Jim sat forward. “Wait, food? What about blood?”

Oswald rolled his eyes impatiently.  “I was getting to that. Blood is necessary for our survival, but we can eat human food in order to fit in. It just doesn't do much for us. It's like…” He waved a hand as he tried to think of an analogy.  “Pandas,” he said at last.

Jim stared. “Pandas.”

“Pandas. They're bears, built for a carnivorous diet, but they spend all day eating bamboo for some reason. They get their protein from insects or something. So human food to us is the equivalent of a panda’s daily supply of bamboo. We can eat it, but we would need to eat a lot of it for it to have any effect. What we need to survive is blood. Human blood is best, but we can survive on animals if necessary. I don't recommend it, because it usually tastes foul.”

“So we’re bloodsucking pandas,” Jim said. “Okay.”

“You still don't believe me, do you?” Oswald asked. “What do I have to do to convince you?”

“I don't know. How did you react when you found out about this?” Jim asked.

Oswald shrugged. “She showed me her fangs, told me about it all and offered to turn me. I wasn't so stubborn as to continue to deny the evidence in front of me as you're being.”

“She?” 

“Her name was Lillian. She did things for Fish sometimes, which was how we met.” Oswald looked away. “She's gone now, I think. I haven't seen her since before I met you. I don't know if she left town or was killed by hunters or if she simply grew too busy to meet me.”

“You've been a vampire the whole time I've known you?” Jim asked, stunned.

Oswald nodded, quirking his lips in an approximation of a sheepish smile. “Yes, that's true. I've been a vampire all along. Haven’t you ever wondered why I'm so hard to kill?” he asked. 

“I thought you were just part cockroach,” Jim deadpanned. 

Oswald scowled. “I'll let that go because this is a difficult time for you,” he said. “But don't think I'll be so lenient in future.”

Jim smirked briefly. “Alright, fine. So you've been a vampire for a while, and vampires can eat like pandas and I can see in the dark and… what else?”

“You're stronger and faster than humans. I'll let you test that another night, though,” Oswald replied. 

“Right.” Jim wasn't sure this conversation was making anything clearer. 

“You're still finding this all overwhelming,” Oswald said. “I apologise. I know it's a lot to take in. Lillian explained everything more clearly to me, but she was more used to this. I wasn't the first human she turned, so she knew how best to go about this. Unfortunately, it's been long enough that I've forgotten most of her introductory speech.” 

“How many have you turned?” Jim asked.

“You can't tell by the mess I'm making of this?” Oswald gestured between them. “You're my first.”

For some reason the wording made Jim blush. “Oh.”

“I must admit, this wasn't how I imagined turning you would go,” Oswald said. 

Jim raised his eyebrows. “You imagined turning me into a vampire?”

Oswald turned away, but Jim could still see the blush staining his cheeks. “I… yes. When I… When we first met. When we were. When I thought we could be friends.”

There was a moment of silence, while Oswald refused to look at Jim in his humiliation, and Jim regretted ever asking the question. 

“So...uh…” Jim began awkwardly. “I thought… you and Nygma were close, weren’t you? Why didn’t you turn him?”

That seemed to snap Oswald out of his embarrassed mood. He jerked his head around to glare at Jim. “Never mention his name to me again,” he snapped. “Yes, I thought about it, but after…. Certain events, I’m very glad I never confessed my vampirism to him at all, let alone turned him into one of us.”

“Certain events?”

“He tried to kill me,” Oswald replied.

Jim strongly suspected there was a lot more to the story than that, but Oswald clearly didn’t want to talk about it, and Jim didn’t think it was wise to push the issue right then. Not while he was trying to make sense of the vampire thing, anyway. He was still mostly convinced that it was some elaborate prank, although he couldn’t figure out why Oswald would do something like that. 

“Perhaps we should talk about something else,” Jim suggested.

Oswald stood. “I think we’ve done enough talking tonight,” he said. “Get some rest. Think about what I’ve said. I advise against leaving your rooms, for tonight at least, but tomorrow I’ll show you around.”

Jim watched him go, more confused than ever. He still didn't quite believe him about the vampirism, but…

Oswald had left the cup behind, with a residue of drying blood coating the bottom. 

Experimentally, Jim ran his finger around the side of the cup. It still smelled wonderful. He wondered about that, because he'd never been so affected by blood before. 

Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he licked the blood off his finger. 

This time, he definitely felt fangs. 

Jim was so surprised, he dropped the cup. He barely had a split second to react, certain that the cup would shatter on the floor and Oswald would be displeased, yet somehow he caught it, an inch from the floor.

Oswald had said he would be faster. 

Deciding that it would be better if he didn't put Oswald’s fine china at work, Jim put it on the bedside table. 

There was a hand mirror on the nightstand as well. Jim picked it up, half afraid to look at his reflection, but he had to know. He'd felt them, but seeing the delicately pointed canines was something else. 

He ran his tongue over his teeth, feeling the fangs recede. That was… interesting.  Even when they were retracted, they were still pointier, sharper than they had been before. 

He wondered if they extended automatically, or if he had to concentrate on it  —  and saw them extend.

Oh god.

It was real. 

He put the mirror down hurriedly and sat down on the bed. 

He was a vampire. 

An actual, honest to god, blood drinking vampire. 

He drew in a shaky breath. What was he going to do? Was he going to have to feed on people? Kill them to survive? How could he justify that? Jim had never told anyone, but there had been times when he hadn't wanted to live anymore, hadn't thought his life was worth living after seeing all the damage he had done to other people, and now the very act of continuing his life would hurt others, and it would do forever.

Jim curled up on the bed, closing his eyes tightly as if that could make everything go away.

Somehow, despite the thoughts troubling him, Jim managed to fall asleep. He awoke later to blinding sunlight streaming in the window. He hadn’t closed the curtains before falling asleep. It was so bright it hurt, and he couldn't keep his eyes open. 

Groaning, he pulled the covers over his head. It was like having a hangover, but without the alcohol. 

Even under the blankets, it felt too bright and he longed to get up and shut the curtains. He tried to get up, lifting the blankets just a little, but even then it felt like too much. 

Finally, Jim decided to just close his eyes and dash to the window. If he remembered correctly, there wasn't anything between the bed and the window for him to walk into or trip on. If he was quick enough, he could get the curtains shut and block out the light that hurt so much.

It was a good plan, in theory, and could have worked if his foot hadn't tangled in the blanket. He crashed to the floor with a loud curse. 

“What are you doing?” Oswald asked.

Jim hadn't heard him coming, and the light caused him too much pain for him to feel embarrassed. “Too bright,” he hissed. 

He heard the drapes being pulled across and the light dimmed significantly. The headache remained, though. Jim picked himself up and crawled back into bed.

“Why didn't you shut the curtains before you slept?” Oswald asked. “I warned you about the light sensitivity, didn't I?”

Jim glared at him, the bedcovers drawn up to his chin. “Sorry, I was too busy freaking out about the fact that I'm a fucking  _ vampire _ to think about it.”

Oswald gave him a pleased smile. “You believe me now?”

“I have  _ fangs _ ,” Jim snapped. 

“Yes, that is the main indicator of vampirism,” Oswald said. “Sit up, let me have a look at your eyes.”

Jim frowned, but sat up. “It still hurts.”

“The retinas may be burned. Do you see clearly?” Oswald asked. He gently tilted Jim’s head to examine his eyes, guiding him closer for a better look.

“There are spots,” Jim admitted. 

“They'll fade away. You should be fully healed by tonight,” Oswald said.

His fingers brushed Jim’s cheek delicately. Jim didn't move, could hardly breathe at the intimacy of the situation. Then Oswald drew back and the spell was broken.

“I have to go out today,” Oswald said. “I'll be back this evening. If your eyes are better, we may walk the grounds at sunset, but I advise against leaving your room today.”

“How come you're not affected by the sunlight?” Jim asked.

“I've had time to become accustomed to it. I still feel weakened by it, but it no longer blinds me or incapacitates me,” Oswald replied. “You'll reach the same tolerance level soon, and you could even return to work for a while if you wish.”

Jim had wondered about that. “I could?”

“For a while, until people start noticing that you don't age,” Oswald replied. “It will happen sooner or later, and we'll have to move on.”

“Move on?” 

“We'll talk later, about that and more,” Oswald said. “If you like, I can provide paper and pens, so you can write down any questions you have and we can go through them tonight.”

Jim nodded. “Yes, that’s a good idea.”

Oswald nodded. “Okay.”

He left to find a notepad and pen, returning shortly with both before bidding Jim farewell and repeating his instructions not to leave the room. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim continues adjusting to his transformation. Oswald continues educating him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm well down the vampire!Oswald rabbit hole now!
> 
> Beta'd by [thekeyholder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder). Thank you so much for all your help. <3

Harvey showing up at the mansion bothered Oswald more than he let on to Jim. It meant that word had somehow got out that Jim was recuperating in Oswald’s home and that was not a good sign. He was sure no one else had been around the night he had found Jim dying in an alleyway. Likely, it was someone in his employ who had gossiped, which meant they had to be dealt with.

Oswald had Victor Zsasz checking for the source of the leak, while he attended to his own matters surrounding the Iceberg Lounge. He’d neglected the club for a few days while Jim was in the most critical stages of his transformation, but he couldn’t put it off any longer. Besides, the longer he was away, the more likely it was that his staff would grow lax in their duties.

He started off with legitimate business first, sorting through the accounts for the past few nights, but then there were license applications to approve or reject, and one frustrated group of young thugs who had been refused an application to deal with.

“Crime levels cannot be permitted to rise too high at present,” Oswald snapped at their leader, a heavily-built youth with a shaven hair and too many facial piercings. “And your little ‘gang’ here already has a reputation for going too far in certain matters.”

“If you mean that fight last week, those assholes had it coming,” the guy muttered. He was barely more than a boy really. Oswald was sure his file said they were all barely eighteen. 

“And the week before that? Or last month? In fact, you’ve regularly been in trouble with the GCPD over minor infractions for the past few years,” Oswald pointed out.

“Well, if you give us a licence, then they’ve gotta leave us alone, right?” the leader said.

Oswald sighed, and switched tactics. He smiled, pleasant on the surface, but there was danger lurking beneath. “You’re young, and impulsive. I understand. I was much the same, myself, when I was your age, but you must understand that you are loose cannons right now. I cannot risk you upsetting the balance. If I grant you a licence for robbery, and you murder your chosen victim either by accident or on purpose, then I cannot protect you, and Gotham will doubt me, and then chaos will follow. Do you understand?”

From the blank looks he was receiving, Oswald doubted it, but the boys nodded nonetheless.

“Now, if you can keep from getting into too much trouble for, say, a month, then I will reconsider your application,” Oswald offered.

“We gotta wait a month?” the leader protested.

“One month. Four weeks. If you can fly under the radar of the GCPD for one month, then come back and I’ll review your application,” Oswald replied.

The leader still didn’t look happy.

“Now, if that’s all, I do have some rather important work to get back to,” Oswald said, gesturing to the door.

The leader looked like he might argue, but Victor chose that moment to stroll in.

“Hey, boss.”

“Victor,” Oswald greeted, biting back any remarks he wanted to make about the importance of knocking.

The sight of Victor Zsasz was enough to have the gang of boys scurrying out in a hurry. Oswald doubted their ability to be discreet for an entire month, but at least he was rid of them without having to resort to more drastic measures.

“I found out who’s been spilling the beans about Gordon sleeping in your spare room,” Victor said. “One of the cleaning staff blabbed. She’s sitting out there now, if you want to talk to her, or should I just —“ He made little finger guns and mimed shooting her.

Oswald scowled. “Is she a spy or just stupid?” he asked.

“Just stupid,” Victor said, shrugging. “So… shoot her?” He mimed the action with finger guns.

“Yes. Wait, no,” Oswald said. “I need Jim to cooperate with me for a while, and if he finds out I’ve had her killed for gossiping, I’ll never get him to listen to me. No, just… send her in.”

Victor left, and the young woman was sent in. Oswald could hear her heart beating frantically with fear. She was one of his maids, a recent hire after another had moved away from Gotham. 

“Mr Cobblepot, sir, I’m really sorry, I didn’t know it was meant to be such a big secret,” she babbled nervously. “And I didn’t even really say anything important. Just said he was there and… well. Um. I’m very sorry.” She turned red and looked down at her clasped hands. Her dark hair fell forward, obscuring her face.

“And what?” Oswald asked. “What else did you say?”

If not for enhanced vampiric hearing, he doubted that he would have been able to make out what the woman said next. 

“It’s sweet, the way you were looking after him. That’s all I said, I swear!” She looked up at him with tearful eyes. “Are you gonna kill me?”

“I need staff I can trust,” Oswald said. “But your infraction is… minor. You’re fired, and as long as you don’t talk about anything else you may have seen or heard while working for me, you may yet live a long and happy life. Get out.”

The woman nodded, eyes wide with disbelief, and fled.

Oswald sat back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose. Today was just one long headache after another, and he doubted dealing with Jim later would improve his day much. 

There was no way he would change his actions in that alleyway, though. He would never have let Jim die. The fact was that no matter what he did, no matter what Jim did to him, there would always be a part of Oswald that longed for Jim to see him as something other than a criminal. Every time he told himself that he was going to let go of his stupid crush, the ridiculous desire for even a true friendship, part of him stubbornly clung to the idea of Jim Gordon standing by his side willingly.

But now Oswald didn’t know what was going to happen between himself and Jim. Previously, Jim had often regarded him with anger, distrust and hostility, but he had never looked so horrified as when Oswald had shown him his fangs. Thinking about the way Jim had recoiled from him stung. 

But Jim was going to be his guest for a little while longer, regardless of how they both felt about the situation. Oswald still had much to teach him about surviving successfully as a vampire without attracting undue attention. In time, Jim would come to terms with what they were, and there would be no more fear between them. Perhaps it would even make them closer. If nothing else, perhaps a lesson on what happened to vampires who didn’t drink blood regularly would aid Oswald in keeping himself out of either Blackgate or Arkham in the future, if Jim feared for the consequences of Oswald not being able to feed himself.

Yes, there would be advantages to this. Oswald just needed to approach matters in the right way from now on. 

But first, he needed to make sure the bar was fully stocked in time for the club opening later that night.

* * *

 

Once the headache receded, Jim spent some time writing down his questions and dozing. There wasn't much else to do while he waited for Oswald to return. He was so bored, and itched to get out and do something. But it was too bright to leave the room. The small amount of daylight creeping past the curtains proved that. 

He must have slept properly at some point, though, because the next time he opened his eyes, the room was darker. 

There was a knock on the bedroom door, but Oswald didn't wait for Jim’s response before he let himself in.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. 

Jim sat up. “Fine. Just bored.”

“I'll see what I can do to provide entertainment tomorrow,” Oswald promised. 

“Thanks,” Jim said. 

It struck him as strange to be on such cordial terms with Oswald now, when previously he had always rejected Oswald’s attempts at friendship. But his situation was still very new, and Oswald was the only one able to help. Jim wasn't especially happy about that, but at least Oswald was willing to help instead of leaving him to fend for himself. Of course, without Oswald, he would have bled out that night. With all that had happened between them, Jim felt Oswald would have felt justified in leaving him to die in that alley.

“Do you feel up for a walk tonight?” Oswald asked. 

“Yes,” Jim replied instantly. Even if he hadn't felt up to it, he would have agreed, just to get out of the room for a while. “But… should I dress?” He indicated the unfamiliar pajamas he was wearing — that he had presumably been wearing since being brought to the mansion a week before.

“If it would make you feel better,” Oswald replied. “I took the liberty of having some of your clothes brought from your apartment.” He waved to the wardrobe. “You'll find all you need in there. I’ll wait in the hallway for you.”

Jim found a couple of shirts and trousers, as well as t-shirts and jeans hanging in the wardrobe. The drawers contained his underwear and socks, all sorted out far more neatly than Jim himself ever managed these days. He wondered who had fetched his clothes and sorted them out so neatly, feeling a flash of embarrassment for whoever had had to go through his belongings.

He dressed quickly in a plain t-shirt and jeans, then grabbed his list of questions and joined Oswald in the hallway.

It was brighter than his room, with the orange sunset filtering through the window at the end of the hall, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been earlier. 

“I thought a walk at sunset would help you get used to sunlight again,” Oswald said. “You should be able to build up your tolerance quickly enough, but you won't tan again.”

“I don't care about that,” Jim said. “As long as I get back to work.”

“You will. Shall we?” Oswald gestured down the hall and began walking. “I'll show you around the mansion and grounds, then we can retire to the living room to discuss your questions.”

“Sounds good,” Jim replied. 

“Out of respect for your occupation, I've requested that any criminal activities take place elsewhere,” Oswald said. “You're unable to arrest anyone right now, until you're able to handle your new life, but I know that wouldn't stop you from trying.”

“Thanks,” Jim replied dryly. 

“And because of that, I do ask that you  _ not _ try to arrest anyone you may see here. I do have others staying here from time to time that you may recognise, and I've asked that they give you space too,” Oswald continued.

Their tour took them around the mansion first, Oswald pointing out bathrooms and bedrooms that Jim should leave alone, as well as Oswald’s own room if Jim should need him after he had gone to bed. Then Oswald showed him the study and living room downstairs, and the kitchen where Olga prepared meals. 

“There are only a few people who I've told of my vampirism, and I would appreciate it if you could also keep this secret,” Oswald said once they were alone again, stepping out into the gardens. “Do not trust the serving staff. I've been let down before, and you may find that people react badly to the news.”

“How do they not notice you drinking blood, though?” Jim asked.

“Red wine can look remarkably similar, in a low light,” Oswald replied. “And I'm very discreet anyway. I collect a supply personally, and stock it in a locked refrigerator in my room. No one but me touches it.”

“So you don't drink from people?” Jim asked, surprised.

“I prefer not to, for many reasons,” Oswald replied. “Not necessarily because I dislike to, but I find there's risk involved to my safety and reputation. You may find you don't have any such trouble, if you would prefer to drink from the source. But I have a contact at the bloodbank if you would prefer that instead. The amount available is limited, though. We cannot have too much blood go missing. It attracts attention.”

Oswald took Jim around the gardens as the sun finally sank below the horizon. The moonlight was more than enough to help them find their way without tripping.

Jim was fascinated by the night blooming flowers, the insects and nocturnal animals. If he had still been human, even as observant as he was, he would have missed so much. 

He watched the fox from the previous night hiding beneath a bush on the far side of the gardens. Before, he would have had no idea it was there.

“This is actually quite amazing,” he murmured. He turned to find Oswald watching him with an indulgent expression.

“This was my favourite part of being turned, back when it was still new,” Oswald said. “I used to take walks, feeling invincible for the first time, but then…” He glanced down at his leg, then across the garden. “Well, circumstances change. Shall we go inside?”

“Okay.”

Oswald led him into the living room, instructing the staff that they passed on the way that they were not to be disturbed for any reason. They sat by the fire, and Jim pulled out his list of questions.

“Where do you want to start?” Oswald asked.

“Well…” Jim glanced down at his list. There wasn't any order to the questions. He'd written them down as he'd thought of them, without any organisation. 

“Show me,” Oswald said, coming to sit by him. 

He sat close to Jim, and leaned closer still. This close, Jim could make out his heartbeat.

“I thought vampires didn't have heartbeats,” Jim said. “How come we do?”

“A lot of vampire lore in movies and books is nonsense,” Oswald explained. “I thought the fact that neither of us burned up in the daylight this morning would have proved that.”

“I can still eat garlic then?” Jim asked, joking.

“When you can handle the flavour, yes. I did tell you flavours would be more intense, right?” Oswald asked. 

Jim nodded. “Bland food at first, right?”

Oswald smiled at him, pleased. “Yes, that's right. Anyway. Heartbeats. As it's been explained to me, our muscles still require oxygen, and our system is still designed to supply the oxygen by carrying it in our blood — except that our blood no longer carries blood. That's why we drink from other people. But I don't know more than that. There hasn't exactly been a lot of research done into it, that I know of.”

Jim nodded as he spoke. “I guess it's not a research subject people want getting out, huh?”

“Not at all,” Oswald replied.

“Next question then — how often do I have to drink blood and how much?” Jim asked.

“Daily,” Oswald replied. “I find a packet from the blood bank usually suits me, but you may find you require more. If you drink from people directly, you’ll learn to judge how much to take.”

“What if I kill someone?” Jim asked. This was the question that had bothered him most during the day.

“It’s unlikely that you would be able to drink enough to kill someone unless you're severely injured,” Oswald replied. “But if such a thing should happen, let me know as soon as possible and I'll deal with it.”

“You'll get rid of the body and cover it up, you mean,” Jim said unhappily.

“Of course.” Oswald looked at him as though he was stupid. “If one of your victims turns up in your own morgue, what would you do? Own up to it? Oh yes, I killed him and drank his blood, lock me up.”

Jim still wasn't happy.

“Look, be careful and if the worst should happen, we'll deal with it together,” Oswald said. “I made the decision to turn you, and I won't leave you to deal with this on your own. I wouldn't do that to you.” There was a hint of reproach in his voice.

Jim felt a familiar surge of guilt, for all the times he had let Oswald down. Even after finding out that there was something bad happening at Arkham, he had left him there.  

“Oswald, I —” he began. 

“Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?” Oswald asked, interrupting. 

“Um.” Jim hesitated, thrown by the interruption. “Are there many vampires in Gotham? And what about other things?”

“Other things?”

“Like werewolves and things like that,” Jim replied.

“I don't know how many vampires there are, but there is a community of us. I'll introduce you later. As for ‘other things’ — generally, they still like to be called people,” Oswald answered.

Jim flushed. “Yeah, okay. But that means they exist, right?”

“Yes, they exist. There are werewolves — two packs, as far as I'm aware, though one pack seems to only consist of two members, as far as I'm aware,” Oswald said. “And there are other shape shifters, witches, fae-kind… You'll generally be able to tell them apart by scent or taste, except for witches, because they’re just humans who cast spells.”

“Spells? Magic?” Jim asked, frowning. “That's all real?”

Oswald looked at him with a sigh. “You're a humanoid mosquito now, and I just told you werewolves and faeries exist. Of course magic is real.”

“Right.” Jim blushed. “It’s just a lot to accept all at once.”

“At least we're past the first hurdle of you accepting your vampirism,” Oswald said, patting him on the arm. “After this, all you need to do is learn how to cope with your new abilities, gauge how much blood to drink from a person, and learn about all the things that have been kept from you, like magic.”

“Right.” Jim’s head was spinning with all of the new information he was taking in. “Is anyone else I know not human?”

Oswald shrugged. “I don't know all the people you know, and a lot of the time, it isn't my place to say anything, but… you know Selina, yes? She's part faerie.”

“Really?” Jim asked. She'd seemed so normal, when he met her. But then, so had Oswald.

For a given value of ‘normal’.

“I'm not sure what kind of faerie, even she doesn't know that, but it's part of why she never falls when she's jumping around rooftops and such things.”

“Anyone else?” Jim asked.

“Not my place,”Oswald said. “You'll find out for yourself. Anyway, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise.” 

Jim could tell from his teasing smile that Oswald knew something. “Not even a hint?”

“Not even a hint,” Oswald said.

“Even if I say I'll owe you a favour?” Jim asked, leaning forwards just a little.

“Even then,” Oswald replied. He drew back, standing up. “Are you hungry? I should get something for us to drink. Or…” He turned back to Jim. “Come with me.”

The change was so abrupt that Jim wondered if he had done something wrong. Nevertheless, he followed Oswald up to his bedroom. Oswald locked the door behind them. Jim felt a brief flash of anxiety, but forced it away. Oswald wasn't going to hurt him or do anything else. This was just more vampire stuff. 

Oswald crouched down by a cabinet in the corner and unlocked it. Jim peered over his shoulder and saw that it was a disguised fridge, with several packets of blood hanging inside. Oswald took two out, and handed one to Jim. 

“I prefer mine a little warmer, but you can drink it cold,” he said. “As long as it isn't coagulated.” He pulled a disgusted face. 

Jim accepted the blood bag with some trepidation. Until now, he'd only had the blood Oswald brought to him in a cup. This felt different, though.

Oswald had installed a microwave in his room as well, for the purpose of heating his blood, and kept cups to warm it in. Jim watched him as he set the timer and waited for the microwave to ping.

“You do this every night?” Jim asked.

“Yes, and unless you hunt or find yourself a willing Thrall or two, so will you,” Oswald said. 

He stepped out of the way and let Jim heat up his own meal. It was easier, somehow, if he pretended it wasn't blood, but maybe some kind of liquid MRE that he once had to live off in the military. Even if it didn't taste like any food he'd ever had before. 

“Thrall?” Jim asked, once his blood was warming. 

“A willing food source, someone who agrees to let you drink from them regularly. According to Lillian, they were once more common, and sometimes were magically enthralled to serve vampires, but that time has passed. Now it's better if they're willing,” Oswald replied.

“And you don't have one?”

“No,” Oswald said. “It's usually too risky for me. There's always someone ready to betray me or I run into trouble. It's best that I stick to a supply from the blood bank, but even then, there is risk involved.”

The microwave pinged and Jim retrieved his cup of blood. He looked down at it, trying to brace himself for the first sip. Oswald had shown no such hesitance, but he'd been a vampire for years.

“One day, you'll gulp it down enthusiastically,” Oswald told him. “Best just to drink it quickly for now, if you're squeamish about it.”

Jim nodded, grimacing. “Okay. Fine.” He took a deep breath, then tipped his cup back and drank.

It wasn't quite as bad as he was expecting. 

“It's better from the source,” Oswald said. “If you're feeling up to it tomorrow, we can take a trip into the city to let you try hunting.”

“Where would we go?” Jim asked. 

“The Iceberg Lounge, of course. Lots of young, pretty people getting drunk. There will be plenty of opportunity for you there, and I have a private office you can use for privacy,” Oswald said. 

“What if I'm seen there?” Jim asked.

“Seen in general, or seen feeding? Because those are different problems,” Oswald pointed out. “And I should point out that word has probably already got around that you are recuperating from an illness in my home. Your colleagues are probably already making up plenty of stories about what we're really getting up to.”

Jim paled. “You're right. They're terrible for gossip. They'll all assume you're poisoning me, or I'm going to come back as your lapdog or something. They'll never respect me.”

He ignored the look Oswald gave him at that, the look that said quite clearly ‘they don't respect you anyway’.

“So if you’re seen at the Lounge, they'll speculate as to why, but as long as none of them suspect that we’re vampires and you're hunting, then we'll be fine,” Oswald said.

“What if someone does find out?” Jim asked.

“Then we end up with hunters stalking us,” Oswald said. “And dealing with them is never as simple as just killing them.”

“You’d hesitate over killing someone?” Jim asked, unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

Oswald glared at him, annoyed. “I know you don’t think much of me, but I’m not a mindless killer.”

“But you are a murderer,” Jim pointed out.

“I’d be careful what you say to me right now, Jim,” Oswald said, stepping close. The threatening effect he was going for lessened by the fact that he had to glare up, rather than down. Also, the fact that he was still holding his cup rather than a weapon likely didn’t help. “You’re a guest in my house, and as you still have rather a lot to learn from me, I’d say that puts me at the advantage here.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you have killed people for your own gain,” Jim replied, not backing away. “You’re a criminal.”

“I saved your life,” Oswald snapped. “A little gratitude wouldn’t go amiss!”

Jim scowled. “Fine. Thank you,” he said, not holding back on the sarcasm.

Oswald flashed an equally sarcastic smile at him. “You’re welcome.” He stepped back and turned away. If he had been anyone else, Jim would have thought he was conceding in their argument, but he knew better.

“And by the way, killing hunters will only attract more hunters, and that brings more trouble that I could really do without. So if you run into hunters, evade and escape, but do not kill them. Fight if you have to, but it’s best to incapacitate them,” Oswald explained, still obviously angry. “A few of them may be inclined to talk first, and see reason, but most are of the opinion than anything supernatural in nature is inherently evil and must be killed, so you understand why the supernatural community of Gotham would prefer to stay low profile.”

“Yeah, makes sense,” Jim replied, sullenly.

“We’ve known each other for years now, Jim,” Oswald said. “You know very well the forethought and planning I’m capable of. It cannot shock you that I would let someone live if killing them would only bring greater problems.”

“I guess not,” Jim admitted reluctantly. Then he gave Oswald a speculative look. “But if the death couldn’t be traced back to you...”

“Still risky,” Oswald replied, shaking his head. “Hunters keep track of their own. But if you come up with any ideas for dealing with them…”

He smirked as Jim glared at him. 

“I won't help you kill people,” Jim said. “Or cover it up.”

“Of course not. I know better than to ask that of you by now,” Oswald replied soothingly. But the smug, teasing smirk never left his lips. “There are plenty of other officers who would be much more amenable anyway.”

“Oswald!” Jim’s angry shout was punctuated by a loud crack. The cup in his hand shattered, spilling blood over his hand and the carpet. Sharp shards of ceramic cut into his palm. “Shit!"

“Oh!” Oswald grabbed his forearm and pulled him over to the en suite bathroom. “That was clumsy. Let me take a look.”

Jim didn't resist, too shocked by his own actions.

Oswald rinsed the blood from his hand under the sink, then set about pulling the shards from Jim’s hand. Jim watched in silence as the cuts stopped bleeding and sealed themselves before his eyes. 

“At least you don't need to be bandaged up,”Oswald commented. “I hate to think what Bullock would say if I sent you back to work injured.”

“I'll never need another hospital stay,” Jim replied.

“Think of the money you'll save,” Oswald added. He pulled the last sliver out, and rubbed the blood away with his thumb. “Do you feel any more pieces still inside you?”

Jim shook his head.

Oswald brushed his thumb over Jim’s palm one last time and then released him. 

Jim held his palm up to the light. It was hard to believe that he had been cut and bleeding mere moments ago. 

“Vampiric healing. Wonderful, isn't it?” Oswald said, watching him carefully. Expectantly, even.

“Yeah,” Jim said. Try as he might, he couldn't prevent himself from looking at Oswald’s damaged leg.

“Go on,” Oswald said. “I know you want to ask.”

“Why didn't your leg heal?” Jim asked, flushing guiltily at being caught. 

“Wood,” Oswald said simply. “Wood is our biggest weakness. I know it may seem like that makes no sense, but it's true. You can get shot, stabbed, beaten to a pulp and you'll heal in minutes. But wounds inflicted with wood will heal as though you're human still. Unless you have splinters you cannot remove.”

“So you have splinters in your leg?” Jim asked.

“Fish beat me with a wooden chair leg. By the time I was able to do anything about the injury, it was too late. The splinters were too deeply embedded,” Oswald explained. 

“I'm sorry. That was when we… when I —” Jim began.

“It's not your fault. I was stupid, overconfident. I paid the price, and I have a permanent reminder,” Oswald said dismissively. 

“But still, getting pushed into the river can't have helped,” Jim said. 

“What's done is done. You showed mercy. Kindness. I knew you would, and you didn't let me down,” Oswald replied, turning away. “Come on, you need more blood. You didn't finish your meal and you really should.”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Jim asked, hurrying after him. 

“You're still newborn, for a vampire. You need to feed regularly,” Oswald said. He found Jim’s discarded blood packet, which still had enough for another cup, and then fetched a clean mug for him.

“I meant about me showing you mercy,” Jim said. “What was that about?”

Oswald looked up at him, cheeks flushed pink. “I haven't thought of it in years, really,” he said. “Our first meeting. The circumstances that led to my being in the trunk of Bullock’s car, being led down the pier. I was injured, didn't yet know why my leg wasn't healing, but I'd begged Falcone to give you the task of shooting me. If you had, I ...don't think I would have died, but a bullet to the brain wasn't going to be good for me whether it did or not. But my gamble was right. You didn't shoot me, and I was free to work my way into Maroni’s gang, snitching on him for Falcone.” He smiled. “Simpler times, but not a period of my life that I miss.”

Jim snorted. “I can believe that. You climbed all the way to the top. There can't be many mob snitches who go on to control all the organised crime in a city,” he said before he could catch himself.

Oswald gave him a sly smile, handing him the mug of blood. “Why, Jim, that almost sounds admiring.”

Jim blushed and looked away. “You're… persistent. It can be a good thing, if you put it towards good aims.”

“I have money and power. I'd say I put it towards a good aim,” Oswald replied.

“Earned through illegal means. You're a criminal. If you gave that up, became a legitimate businessman, then I'd admire you,” Jim said.

Oswald’s smile grew. “Perhaps in my next life,” he said. “When immortality forces us to move on.”

Jim snorted in disbelief. “I'll believe that when I see it.” He sipped from his mug with only a small pause this time. He'd already drunk blood, had already tasted it and smelled it, and despite his initial rejection of the whole thing, his body wasn't rejecting it. It didn't make him feel ill. It just… was.

Oswald watched, a pleased expression on his face. “You're adapting quickly, given the circumstances,” he said. He drained his own cup of blood. 

“So you'll take me to the club tomorrow?” Jim asked. He was nervous about the idea of going, but he didn't want to stay cooped up in Oswald’s mansion all the time. 

“Yes, if you'd like,” Oswald said. “Now, I suppose I should let you out of my room before the staff get any wrong ideas about us and start spreading rumours.”

“Can't imagine you'd tolerate that,” Jim said, following Oswald to the door.

“I don't. I already fired one maid for gossiping, and I'll happily fire any others who do the same,” Oswald said. “And before you ask and insult me,  _ yes,  _ all I did was fire her. She won't be turning up in a ditch somewhere, and there will be no missing persons report, because she's not missing. Just unemployed.”

The suspicious expression cleared from Jim’s face, replaced with confused surprise. “That's… more magnanimous than I expected from you.”

“Then you clearly haven't been paying enough attention,” Oswald said waspishly. “Now, how would you like to spend the rest of your night?” he asked, when Jim looked suitably chastised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is in progress but I have no goal for when to post it. I'll try for next weekend though. <3
> 
> Thank you for reading! Come find me on [tumblr](http://emmageddon.tumblr.com).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's first night out as a vampire doesn't really go as planned. At least, not how Oswald planned it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never really specified where in the timeline this takes place. It's sort of season 3, but Oswald never had his falling out with Ivy, Ed is... somwhere, presumably, and Jim never went to visit Falcone so Sofia never came to Gotham.
> 
> Also, we get to meet the first original character in this chapter. I dunno how important she'll be at this stage, but she'll be around a little while at least. 
> 
> Many thanks to [thekeyholder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder) for betaing. <3

The next night, Oswald collected Jim from his room before sunset again, so they could take another walk around the grounds to help him get used to daylight again. 

“Do you find it's getting easier?” Oswald asked as they returned inside.

Jim nodded. “Yeah. Not sure I'm up for a sunny day yet, but this doesn't hurt anymore.”

“Good. If you get ready now, we'll go to the Iceberg Lounge tonight,” Oswald said. “However, it's too overwhelming for you, we'll leave. I need to put in an appearance, though, at least for a while.”

Jim nodded. He was glad of the prospect of leaving the mansion, but he was still nervous at the prospect of going into the city. Out of the city, where Oswald lived, it was quieter and he was left in peace to adjust. But after only a couple days of it, he was itching to get back. He had cases to work, and criminals to catch (except his present company. Oswald was a necessary evil at the moment). He had no idea if the man he'd been chasing when he'd been shot had been caught yet or not. 

“When do you think I can go back to work?” Jim asked.

“We'll have to see how you get on tonight,” Oswald replied. “If you can handle the sights and sounds and smells of the city, and you're adjusted to sunlight, then perhaps you can go back next week.”

“Next week?” Jim paused, then asked, “What day is it today?”

“Wednesday,” Oswald answered.

“And you expect me to wait until next week? Surely it won't take that long!” Jim protested.

“As I said, it will depend on how you handle tonight. Now, go change. Casual clothes are fine, as long as you're comfortable. Once you're ready, I'll have the car brought around.” Oswald turned away, dismissing Jim.

Jim frowned, but returned to his room to get ready. Casual clothes. Right. Even if he wore his smartest clothes, he'd still look underdressed next to Oswald. The Iceberg Lounge wasn't like the usual bars he went to for a drink with Harvey. He would probably stick out like a sore thumb.

Oswald had taken a selection of his clothes when he had raided his closet, though, so Jim had plenty of choice. In the end, he chose a soft, dark blue shirt and black pants. He left the top two buttons of his shirt undone for a more casual look and was trying to decide on whether he should comb his hair neatly, or give it a more tousled style, when he was primping. Primping for a night out with Oswald. 

Jim scowled at his reflection in the mirror. He deliberately swiped his hand through his hair one last time and abandoned the effort. It shouldn't matter what he looked like tonight. Just before he left the room, Jim grabbed his leather jacket and went to meet Oswald downstairs. 

Oswald was nowhere in sight when Jim returned to the front hall. He hung around waiting for a couple of minutes, but when Oswald didn't appear, he began thinking about tracking him down. But the mansion was so large, and Oswald could be anywhere. Where should he start looking?

Footsteps sounded elsewhere, and Jim found himself listening intently to see if they were Oswald’s, before he realised that they weren't near him. 

Enhanced hearing, he recalled suddenly. 

Perhaps he could use these newly enhanced senses to find Oswald on his own instead of searching every room until he found someone.

Now that he was paying attention to what his senses were telling him, he could pick up faint traces of Oswald’s cologne, and if he concentrated on his hearing, he could hear others in the house. Some were clearly Oswald’s staff, but he wasn't sure who the others were. 

He picked the most likely direction, and quickened his pace when he recognised Oswald’s voice further down the hallway. He was speaking to a young woman, judging by her voice when she replied. He didn't make out any of the words until he was closer.

“...being stupid,” she said.

“Trust me, Ivy,” Oswald replied. 

“Fine,” Ivy said, sounding unhappy. “But I don't like this. Just so you know.”

“I know, I know,” Oswald said.

As Jim neared the room where Oswald and Ivy were, a red-headed woman left. She gave Jim a distrustful look, but didn't say anything before walking away. The scent of plants and damp soil followed her down the corridor.

Jim watched her go. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but he couldn't quite place it. 

“Are you ready, Jim?” Oswald asked.

Jim turned to him. “Yeah. Are we going now?” 

Oswald regarded him with a critical eye. Jim tried not to shift uncomfortably under his gaze. 

“Yes, very well. Come on.” Oswald set off down the corridor, calling for his driver.

Jim followed behind him, a sense of uncertainty growing in his chest. He wanted to be able to go back to work, but there was still much he had to learn and new limits to test. He wasn't sure what others would think about him being out with Oswald when he was supposedly ill.

He avoided the curious looks the driver sent him and slid into the passenger seat beside Oswald. Thankfully, the windows were tinted, so no one could see in during the journey. Oswald had the driver pull around the the rear of the club, so they could enter through the kitchen.

Jim was grateful for the chance to avoid other people, especially when they stepped out of the car into the alley. The stench of the garbage overflowing from the dumpsters was overwhelming. Jim’s stomach lurched, and he clapped a hand to his mouth as though he was going to throw up.

Oswald grabbed his arm and hurried him forward, through the door into the kitchen. It was empty at this time of night, and Jim breathed a sigh of relief as the door shut behind them, cutting off the worst of the smell.

“I did warn you that it would be overwhelming at first,” Oswald said mildly. 

“Yeah,” Jim agreed weakly. “But you didn't say how bad it was.”

“You've been in Gotham’s alleys before. You know how bad they smell, even to humans.”

“You’re saying I should have been better prepared for that?” Jim asked, a little incredulously. “Was it really necessary to stop right next to the dumpster?”

“My intention was to get you inside quickly,” Oswald replied. “The fact that the dumpster was so close by is merely an unfortunate coincidence.”

Jim didn’t quite believe him. Oswald’s expression was just a little too innocent.

“Come, let’s go to my office, shall we?” Oswald smiled.

Still feeling queasy, Jim let himself be led through the kitchen. The closer they got to the main room of the club, the louder the music became until every thump of the bass had Jim wincing against the sound.

“Something else to get used to, Jim, especially if you plan to go back to the GCPD. I don’t believe sirens have a volume control,” Oswald said, close to his ear so that Jim would hear him over the noise.

“It’s so loud, though,” Jim said, a little too loudly. It was starting to give him a headache. How could Oswald expect him to stay here like this? He was starting to regret ever wanting to come back into the city, at least so soon.

Oswald gestured for him to lower his voice. “Not to them,” Oswald replied. “This is what they expect. You’ll adjust, as I have. The headaches will stop once your senses balance themselves out. It’s just the final part of your transformation.” They reached the door to the bar and stopped.

“The final part?” Jim asked.

Oswald held up a hand to silence him. “I should have explained earlier. When we get to my office, though. Come, we’ll have to cross the bar itself so brace yourself for the noise.”

Jim nodded, and did his best, but the music seemed deafening to him when Oswald finally opened the door. It was almost overwhelming and Jim was surprised to find himself oddly grateful for the hand on his lower back as Oswald guided him through the room. Jim kept his eyes down, not wanting to meet anyone’s gaze, but he felt like he was being watched by everyone there.

He could practically hear the stories whizzing off to the ears of the GCPD. There would be so many questions when he returned to work. 

As they passed the club’s patrons, Jim picked up the mingling scents of different perfumes and colognes, underlying traces of soap and sweat from those dancing, and the sweet scents of fruity cocktails and mixers. The combination brought back his nausea from the alley and turned his stomach.

“Well, at least you look ill, if word gets around,” Oswald commented lightly.

Jim glared at him, scowling when Oswald paid no attention. Then they were across the room, entering Oswald’s office with the door swinging shut behind them.

The difference that made was almost instantaneous. The scents were gone, save for Oswald’s cologne, and the music was almost muted. Jim couldn’t help the sigh of relief as Oswald guided him towards a chair. 

“Soundproofing. It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Oswald said conversationally. “I couldn’t have the doors properly soundproofed, of course, but the seals around them do an admirable job of keeping the noise down in here.”

Jim nodded while he adjusted to the sudden drop in noise. His ears were ringing from the volume of the music.

“How long did it take you to get used to this?” he asked.

Oswald shrugged. “About a week or so, I think. It’s not that anything is louder, it’s just that you’re more sensitive to it now.”

Jim nodded in understanding, then regretted the movement when it made his head swim. 

“Now, I won’t ask you to go back out there again just yet,” Oswald said. “You can have some time to recover.”

“You’re sending me back out there?” Jim asked. “Why?”

“To hunt, silly,” Oswald replied. “You’ll go out there, flirt with some pretty woman, then invite her to slip away for a more private conversation and then drink from her.”

“I can’t do that,” Jim replied. He stomach rolled at the thought.

“You can. That’s what the fangs are for,” Oswald said, a touch impatiently. “They’re not decorative.”

Jim glanced at the door. “How can you expect — I mean, I can’t. They’re people. I can’t just go up and bite someone!”

“You can, and you will,” Oswald said calmly, as if he knew that Jim would eventually give in.

It made Jim more determined not to. “I couldn’t tonight anyway,” he said. “They’ve all seen you walk me across the floor, looking like I’m about to throw up. No one will want to talk to me after that.”

“You don't give yourself enough credit, Jim,” Oswald said, smiling indulgently.

Jim gave him a suspicious look.

“You're an attractive man,” Oswald said in answer to his silent question. “I'm sure some pretty young lady will be inspired to pity you, escort you somewhere quiet where you can be alone and then you can feed.”

“No,” Jim said flatly. “I won't take advantage of someone like that.”

Oswald slammed his hand down on the desk. “Now is not the time for your stubborn foolishness.”

“Didn't it bother you at all when you became a vampire?” Jim asked.

“Not at all,”Oswald replied, smiling savagely with his fangs extended. “I was always the one looked down on, made fun of and bullied. I was  _ prey _ . Now I am a predator, as are you, and they are our prey.” He waved a hand expansively at the door.

“They're  _ people _ ,” Jim replied. “Innocents. I can't hurt them just to ensure my own survival.”

Oswald rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can. Anyway, it doesn't really hurt. They go into a sort of hypnotised state at the moment of being bitten, leaving you to drink your fill, and then they sleep for a bit and don't remember a thing when they wake up.”

“It's not right,” Jim insisted.

“Right or wrong doesn't matter in this situation!” Oswald snapped. “Do you know what happens to a vampire that doesn't feed regularly?” He paused to take in the stubborn tilt of Jim’s jaw. “Of course you don't, you haven't experienced it yet.”

He left Jim’s side, pacing around his desk to throw himself down in his chair. 

“It's not like when you were human, and you get a gnawing ache in your stomach. This is different, like going insane, but with some added pain,” Oswald said, gaze fixed on the wall. “It starts with a light-headed feeling. It becomes harder to think, to function as a person. It's harder to control yourself, once you realise you need blood, because that’s all you think about. You body craves what it needs, and if you don’t get it, then it hurts. Your joints ache, your muscles feel like they’re all cramping at the same time. It’s agony, and if you run into anyone during this state, you’re more than likely going to drain them dry, because the need is all-consuming.”

Jim stared at him in silence for a moment.

“Have you — ?”

“Arkham was hell in more ways than one,” Oswald replied sharply, flashing a brief, bitter smile at Jim.

Something twisted in Jim’s chest. “Oswald — “

“How do you feel now?” Oswald asked, cutting him off sharply.

Jim opened his mouth to say he was fine, then stopped. He was feeling a bit light-headed. Neither of them had fed from Oswald’s stash of blood bags before coming to the Iceberg Lounge, unless Oswald had done so before their walk.

“When you're more adjusted, you can maybe go a day or two before you advance from that light-headed feeling,” Oswald said, giving him a knowing look.

“But now?” Jim asked.

“I advise you to go find a neck to bite,” Oswald said, smiling.

Jim scowled. “You did this on purpose,” he said. “Bringing me here when you knew I would have to… have to…”

“Have to feed, yes,” Oswald said. “So I suggest you go find someone and feed.” He waved him off toward the door. “Bring them here, if you want. Feign illness, ask for assistance.”

“But that's — “

“It's  _ necessary, _ ” Oswald snapped. “Why do you think we didn't feed before we came? Because I knew you'd be unwilling, unless forced.” He turned to the door and shouted, “Victor!”

Zsasz opened the door and stuck his head in. “Boss?” 

“Detective Gordon would like a drink. Escort him to the bar and see that he's served whatever he likes. Free of charge,” Oswald added, generously. 

Jim scowled at him, but stood up and let Victor guide him to the bar.

“You don't look so good,” Victor commented. “You sure you should be out?”

“Yes,” Jim ground out, frustrated. He kept his gaze fixed on the bar ahead, sliding onto a barstool. 

“If you say so,” Victor replied. He gestured to summon the bartender. “A drink for Detective Gordon, on the house.”

The bartender nodded and turned to Jim to take his order.

“What’s the most expensive drink in the menu?” Jim asked, glancing at the bottles.

“Some of the wines and champagnes can set you back around two hundred dollars a bottle, or the Johnnie Walker Blue is sixty dollars a glass if you'd prefer that,” the bartender said.

“Yeah, okay,” Jim said. He'd never afford it on his paycheck, but as long as Oswald was footing the bill, Jim was determined to take advantage just this once.

The man behind the bar glanced to Victor, checking that it was okay and didn't get the expensive whiskey out until he saw Victor nod.

“Ice?”

“Please,” Jim replied.

The bartender added a few ice cubes and poured a generous helping of whiskey and slid the glass over to Jim. 

“Thanks.” Jim took his first sip, then turned to Victor.  “Are you going to hover over my shoulder all night?” 

Victor smiled, making Jim feel uneasy. “Enjoy your drink, Detective.”

He left, taking the scent of leather and gunpowder with him. Jim did his best to ignore the other scents in the room. Now that he knew what to expect, it was easier, but it was still a bit much. He sipped his drink in silence while the bartender wandered to the other side of the bar to serve other customers.

After a while, Jim became aware that he was being watched. He glanced around, half expecting Oswald or Victor to be observing him. He hoped it wasn't a colleague from the GCPD, raising awkward questions. 

Instead, he looked across the room and met the gaze of a pretty brunette. She smirked flirtatiously when she noticed him looking. Jim turned his gaze back to his drink hurriedly, hoping to be left alone. He didn't want to talk to anyone or feed on them. He could go back to Oswald’s office, but he also didn't want to continue arguing. 

“You look like you could use some company.” The woman slid into the seat next to him.

“I really don't,” Jim said. 

She laughed, leaning on the bar. “You sure? A handsome man like you doesn't want some company?”

“No.” Jim threw the rest of his drink back and slid off his bar stool. He wobbled, partly due to the hunger and partly because of the alcohol. 

A manicured hand caught his arm to steady him. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I'm fine. I just want to be alone. Find someone else,” he said, shaking the woman off. 

He crossed the bar, intending to leave, and was more than halfway to the door when he realised it wouldn't be good to be seen leaving the Lounge, even if no one had seen him arrive. He veered off sharply, heading towards the kitchens. The alley would smell awful still, but he could hold his breath until he was out of there.

“Hey, Jim, where are you going?” Victor tried to block Jim’s path through the kitchen. 

“Home,” Jim growled, pushing him aside roughly. 

Victor crashed into the bench and stumbled, but Jim didn't stop. He just needed to be anywhere but here. He heard Victor scrambling behind him but then he was out the door. He slammed the door behind him, reeling from the disgusting smells, and set off down the alley. He ignored Oswald’s car, still parked by the back entrance and ran.

* * *

Oswald was starting to worry that he had made a mistake in bringing Jim to the Iceberg Lounge tonight. Perhaps it would have been better for him to try hunting at a later date. 

Oswald himself had never been much good at hunting, not that he would admit as much to anyone. He'd seen vampires luring their victims away with various flirtatious and seductive methods, but Oswald had never had much luck with that. He had been awkward as a human, and that hadn't changed much when he was turned. Flirting had never come easily to him and most either found his attempts pathetic, though a few had called him laughably adorable. Either way, he was unsuccessful.

Jim would be better at it, if he could just get past his squeamishness over the whole thing.

“Boss, Jim’s gone,” Victor said, striding into his office. 

A woman appeared behind him. “I couldn't stop him,” she said. “I know you said he would be stubborn but —”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Oswald snapped, getting up. “Victor, why aren't you going after him? Find him  _ now. _ ”

Victor set off, leaving the woman behind.

“Christine, what went wrong?” Oswald asked her.

She had been a willing Thrall to another vampire, until a few months before. Her vampire had disappeared, with suspected hunter involvement, and she'd been looking for another. Oswald had asked her to pose as a victim for Jim as payment for his aid in looking for her vampire. 

“Nothing,” Christine insisted. “I barely even had time to say hello!”

Oswald threw his hands up. “Idiot!”

“Hey, it's not my fault,” Christine protested.

“I meant him,” Oswald said. He grabbed his coat from the rack and his cane. “We need to find him.” He hurried through the kitchens. He would struggle to catch up with Jim on foot, but hopefully he wouldn't have got very far.

“You want me to come too?” Christine asked, following after him.

“Yes, you may as well. If he doesn't attack someone then you'll be needed,” Oswald said. He was relieved to see the car was still in the alley. It meant Jim had gone on foot and Victor would find him easier to track. 

There was no sign of Victor, probably already tracking down where Jim had gone. One of Oswald’s men came lumbering out of the door behind him.

“Give me the car keys,” Oswald snapped, holding his hand out. 

“Boss?” The man looked confused as he drew the keys out of his pocket.

“Now!” Oswald snatched the keys from him. “Stay here. If Jim Gordon returns before I do, call me immediately.” He hurried to the driver’s side door. “Get in,” he ordered Christine.

Christine looked uncertain, but slid into the passenger seat. “How do you know where he’s going?”

“I don’t,” Oswald said. “There’s just a faint scent, but I won’t catch up on foot and neither will you, even if you weren’t wearing impractical heels.” He started the car and sped out of the alley. A few pedestrians approaching the alley jumped back, but Oswald paid them no mind.

Christine looked down at her shoes. “They look good, though.”

Oswald glanced at her, but didn’t reply.

His phone rang and he pulled it out, driving one-handed while he answered it. “Yes?”

“He’s heading back to his apartment,” Victor said. “Not there yet, but he’s heading in that direction.”

“Catch him if you can,” Oswald ordered. He spun the steering wheel as they reached a crossroads and swerved around the corner. 

“Hey!” Christine protested, clinging to her seatbelt as she was flung to the side. “If you kill me, I’m coming back to haunt you forever!”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to find an exorcist to get rid of you,” Oswald said. He tossed his phone at her. “If Victor calls again, answer it.”

Christine fumbled with the phone as it landed on her lap. “I’m not one of your minions, you know. You can’t order me about like this.”

“Yes, I can.” 

Christine scowled at him. “Just don’t get me killed.”

* * *

Though Jim had initially intended to return to his own apartment and lock himself in for a while, once he started running he hadn't wanted to stop. He'd never been this fast, even at the height of his physical fitness. Nor had he had the stamina to cover such distances and keep going. He hadn't been given the opportunity to test his new speed and strength yet, and once he started running, it was irresistible. 

He kept to alleys, when he could, to avoid attracting attention. He felt free, for once, just running for the sake of running, no destination in mind.

But he couldn't deny that he needed to feed. He stopped at a corner, barely even out of breath, and realised the light-headed feeling Oswald had described was getting worse. Without conscious effort on his part, his fangs extended. Jim ran his tongue over them gently.

Perhaps he should have stayed at the Iceberg Lounge. He didn't have to feed on one of the patrons. He could have talked Oswald into giving him a blood bag instead. 

Or maybe he could get back to the mansion and help himself to Oswald’s stash. 

A wave of pain rippled through him. He gasped, bracing himself against the wall.

Maybe he wouldn't make it back to the mansion after all. He wasn't even sure he would make it back to the Lounge. 

He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, glad that he'd thought to bring it. As another wave of agony rolled over him, he retreated further into the dark solitude of the alley and tried to call Oswald. 

He curled up on the ground while it rang, not caring that his clothes were being soaked through by filthy water and dirt. 

“Jim? Where are you?” a woman's voice answered. 

“Huh?” Jim felt like his mind was wrapped in cotton wool. It was hard to focus on anything other than the fact that Oswald hadn't answered his phone.

“Jim, we met in the bar. I'm with Oswald now, but we need to know where you are,” she said.

“I ran. I just remember running, and now it hurts,” Jim mumbled. 

He heard the woman talk to Oswald, and heard Oswald respond.

“Jim, can you find a street sign?” the woman asked.

Jim nodded and stood, not really realising that she wouldn't see him. He let his phone hang by his side while he looked for a signpost. He could hear her still talking, though he didn't think to respond.

He found a signpost at the corner, but it was a moment before he remembered why he had been looking. It was only when a fresh wave of pain wracked his body that he remembered. 

With a gasp of pain, he sank to his knees in the street.

“Jim! Jim!” The woman called. “Are you there? Where are you?”

“134th and West,” Jim replied at last.

“On our way, don't move!” the woman said, relaying the information to Oswald.

Jim had no idea how long he was there before Oswald’s car screeched to a halt beside him. He was thankful beyond words that no one else seemed to be around, because he wasn't sure at all that he could have controlled himself. He couldn't make his fangs retract at all now, and all he wanted was blood.

A woman jumped out of the car first, hurrying to his side. Jim shrank back away from her.

“No, don't — “ he protested weakly. 

He could hear her heartbeat, almost fancied he could see the blood pumping beneath her skin. He caught himself reaching for her and yanked his hand back sharply. 

“Don't be an idiot,” she hissed. “You need to feed.”

“But — “

“This isn't the time,” Oswald said, hurrying to Jim’s side. “Get in the car.”

He hauled Jim to his feet, and both he and the woman guided Jim to the back seat of the car. 

“How do you feel?” Oswald asked, though any compassion in his question was lost in his frustrated tone.

“It hurts,” Jim said. “Can't think. I don't want to hurt anyone.”

“You won't,” the woman said. “My name is Christine, and you're going to feed from me now, and you'll trust Mr Cobblepot to tell you when to stop.”

“But — “

“But nothing,” Christine said. She pushed him back and climbed into the car with him. She straddled his lap, pulling her long hair to the side to expose her neck. “Bite here. No more arguments. You know you need it, and you won't last long enough to get it anywhere else now.”

With the woman on his lap, Jim had very little room to move if he didn't want to hurt her. When she pressed forward, his control slipped and there was no resistance left in him when she guided his head forward.

His fangs pierced her neck, and warm blood flooded his mouth. 

It was the sweetest ambrosia, made all the better for the way it washed the pain from his body and lifted the fog from his mind. The woman — Christine — went limp against him as he drank mouthful after mouthful of her blood.

“That should be enough,” Oswald said, breaking through the haze. “You don't want to take too much from a single victim unless you intend on killing them.”

It was in Jim’s mind to refuse to stop, but then the comment about killing brought him to his senses. He pulled away with a gasp, looking over Christine with concern.

“Is she alright?” he asked.

Her eyes were closed, but she was still breathing. The wound Jim had made on her neck was closing already. 

“She'll be fine,” Oswald said. “They go into a hypnotised state when we bite them. I hear that it can be quite addicting.”

“Is that why she — ?” Jim asked, breaking off when he wasn't sure how to word it. Had she volunteered tonight, or had she been asked — perhaps even forced to agree to be his victim?

“Tonight, I asked her as a favour in repayment of some aid I have provided in seeking her missing vampire master,” Oswald said. “But if you want to know why she was a willing Thrall before this, you should ask her.”

Jim nodded, then seemed to realise the intimacy of his position with Christine, and the surreality of his entire situation, sitting in the back seat of Oswald’s car with a strange woman on his lap and Oswald beside him with an unreadable expression on his face. He blushed, averting his gaze, then again when he realised that left him staring at Christine’s chest. 

“Uh… what now?” he asked.

“We go home,” Oswald said stiffly. “You can sit in the front with me, or with Christine in the back, if you'd rather keep holding on to her. Just don't drink any more from her.”

“I'll sit up front,” Jim said, blushing darker.

He waited until Oswald had slid out of the car before carefully wiggling out from under the unconscious woman in his lap. He lay her down gently in the back seat and the hurried to the front passenger side, climbing in beside Oswald.

Oswald began driving in silence, scowling at the road. With no conversation to distract him, Jim’s mind turned to all the things that could have gone wrong. 

He could have attacked someone. If Oswald hadn't shown up with Christine when they had, if someone else had happened upon him, would he have been able to control himself? If Oswald hadn't been there to stop him, how much would he have drunk? Enough to cause serious harm? Enough to kill?

A sick feeling churned in his gut.

_ “You, James Gordon, are the monster!” _

Jim had been a monster even before he required blood to survive. He'd known that deep down, even before the Tetch virus. The virus had brought to the surface a side of him that he despised, all the danger and darkness he tried so hard to control. They still whispered about him at work, stories of the things he had done, real or imagined, and rumours that the cure hadn't worked and he was simply pretending. It was just talk, Harvey said, ever ready to defend him. 

But the truth was that Jim was always a monster. Now he just had fangs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Chapter 4 is in progress, and I'll hopefully finish it soon. 
> 
> Feedback is loved. <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live! I know it's been a while, but I have been writing and here is proof. :)
> 
> Many thanks to [thekeyholder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder) for being a wonderful beta. <3

Christine was settled in a spare room at the mansion, to sleep off the effects of being bitten. Oswald’s staff had been sent away to give them privacy, so they sat in the living room, sipping blood from Oswald’s personal stash.

Oswald wasn't sure how much Jim needed after his unexpected run, so he had insisted on him drinking a bit more when they returned to the mansion, and Oswald himself hadn't had any until now.

“Oswald,” Jim began quietly.

Oswald had barely spoken a word to him beyond directing him to take Christine to a spare bedroom and to drink.

“Yes, Jim?” Oswald said. His tone was mild, but Jim could still see the anger in his gaze.

“I… I shouldn't have run off like that. I-I could have hurt someone, could have done so much worse…” Jim paused, swallowed his pride and continued, “I'm sorry and… and thank you for coming to find me. For stopping me from drinking too much from her.”

“You have no idea the danger you put us all in,” Oswald snapped. “What if hunters had found you? You think because you're stronger and faster that you'd stand a chance against an experienced hunter? I saved your life once, but if they stake you, decapitate you, do _anything_ to kill you, there's nothing I could do to save you again.”

For the first time, Jim realised that Oswald was worried about him. It wasn't just that he'd run off alone, disobeying Oswald, but because he could have been in danger.

Somehow, that felt worse than if Oswald was just angry with him for running off.

“Why?” he blurted out. “Why did you save me? I mean, that night… you have every reason to hate me. I don't understand why you would save me after-after everything.” After Arkham, after the virus and Fish’s final death, after all the other times Jim had let Oswald down, betrayed or abandoned him.

“You and I, we're linked. You can't deny it. Two sides of the same coin. You spared my life, that day on the pier, and now I saved yours,” Oswald replied.

“So you're just repaying that debt, are you?” Jim asked. “You called me a monster not that long ago. Are you really sure that giving me fangs, the strength and speed — are you sure that it's a good idea?”

“Well, if you turn against me, I know how to stop you,” Oswald said, smirking.

“I've always been against you,” Jim pointed out.

“Is that so? Because I seem to recall working with you on more than one occasion,” Oswald replied, smirking. “You stand with me when it suits you, and then you go back to acting the saint. You're really a hypocrite, aren't you?”

Jim flinched as if struck, turning his gaze to the fire so that he wouldn't have to look at Oswald. “I just want what's best for the city,” he said.

“So do I,” Oswald said. “And you've seen what we can achieve when we work together.”

“Your methods — “

“Are effective,” Oswald interrupted.

“You murder people,” Jim said.

“It's an effective method,” Oswald said. “And you're hardly a stranger to killing, are you?”

Jim swallowed uncomfortably, adjusting hs grip on his cup of blood.

“Sometimes… I have to do things I don't agree with. I tried — I really tried — to stick to my principles, but… this city doesn't allow it. Thought if I could keep to the rules, I could make a difference, make things better, but I can't.”

“So you admit that your way doesn’t work?” Oswald asked. “Otherwise you wouldn't have to work with me at all.”

“But it should work and people like you are the reason that it doesn't!” Jim snapped.

Oswald frowned at him. “I liked this conversation better when you were grateful to me for preventing you attacking an innocent passerby.”

A fresh wave of guilt washed over Jim. “Yeah. Thanks,” he said dully. He drained the last of the blood from his cup and stood. “I'm going to bed.”

He brushed past Oswald, not meeting his eyes.

* * *

 Oswald sank onto the sofa where Jim had just been sitting. That had not gone the way he had planned. He had wanted to impress upon Jim the danger he could have been in, but Jim had a way of getting under his skin like no one else.

Jim was too busy wallowing in guilt over things he could have done though, things that wouldn't have had a chance to happen if he'd just done as he was told.

“Pengy?” a soft voice called.

“Ivy,” Oswald greeted. He plastered a smile on, not sure if it was a good idea to talk to her right now, while his emotions were still running high from the discussion he'd just had with Jim.

“So how did it go tonight?” she asked, coming to sit beside him.

“Not as planned,”Oswald replied. “But I think valuable lessons were learned.”

“What happened?”

“Jim ran off. We found him before anything awful happened to him, or to someone else, and now he's busy feeling guilty over what might have happened.” Oswald sighed.

Ivy shrugged. “I still don't understand why you had to make him like you.”

Oswald shook his head. “It seems no one does,” he said. “But there was no way I could leave him to die, under any circumstances.”

“Oh.” Ivy smiled suddenly. “I get it!”

Oswald looked at her curiously. “You do?”

“You _like_ him,” she said. “Like you liked that Edward guy.”

Oswald scowled. “ _Don't_ mention his name!”

Ivy didn't lose her smile. “It's true, isn't it?”

“What I feel for Jim is nothing like — It's different,” Oswald insisted. “And don't ever mention it where Jim could hear you. Don't mention Ed to him either. In fact, you should probably stop talking altogether!”

Ivy glared at him. “I want to help you,” she said. “We're supposed to be friends.”

“This isn't really a situation you can help with,” Oswald said. “This is Jim being a stubborn idiot.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “I meant that I could help you with your crush,” she said.

Oswald scowled. “There is no ‘crush’!” he said. “Really, stop talking!”

“I could try to find a perfume that will work on vampires,” Ivy said, ignoring him. “Maybe he likes you too, or I can make him obey you or something.”

“No,” Oswald insisted. “I mean, you can make your perfumes, they may come in useful someday, but you're not to use them to manipulate Jim. He'd be furious and I'll lose all hope of him ever trusting me and working with me in the future.”

“And this means so much to you because you _like_ him and want him to like you too,” Ivy said, smirking teasingly.

“ _Because_ we are old friends,” Oswald replied stiffly.

Ivy giggled. “Old friends. Is that what they call it, now?”

“Ivy!” Oswald blushed, growing more flustered.

As if it wasn't bad enough that his treacherous heart fluttered every time he saw Jim, Ivy had to be the one to figure it out. At least Jim was still clueless about the whole thing. Oswald was sure that he would run a mile if he ever found out Oswald found him attractive.

“Alright, fine. I won't do anything or say anything about your crush,” Ivy said.

“Good,” Oswald replied. “Thank you.” But he hadn't missed the mischief in Ivy’s eyes as she said that, and he would definitely be keeping an eye on her interactions with Jim now.

“So you admit that you have a crush,” Ivy said triumphantly.

“Ivy!”

Ivy hugged him suddenly, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “If he hurts you, I'll stake him,” she whispered.

“Ivy,” Oswald repeated, softer, more fondly.

“I just want you to be happy,” she said, pulling back slightly.

“I know,” Oswald said. “And I will be, once Jim starts listening to me.”

* * *

Jim stopped to check on Christine on his way to his room — deliberately not thinking about how he was thinking of it as his room. He was not living here, it was a temporary situation and he would be moving back to his apartment as soon as he could.

He just had to get used to his heightened senses and control himself when it came to feeding.

Christine was sleeping soundly, looking a little pale, but otherwise she didn't seem to be suffering any visible outward effects. Jim watched her for a few long seconds, then retreated to his room.

To Oswald’s spare room that he was currently using.

If Oswald hadn't come for him, Jim could have drained the next person he came across. Once he'd bitten Christine, tasted her warm blood, he hadn't wanted to stop.

Part of Jim was horrified that he enjoyed drinking blood now, when only a few short days ago, he had been disgusted by the very idea of it. But tasting it, it wasn't the same as when he had been human. The coppery, metallic taste was the same, but there was also something about it that made it enticing. His new vampiric nature recognised what he needed, and the last of Jim’s resistance was quickly eroding.

Which wouldn't be happening if Oswald hadn't turned him into a vampire. The flipside of that thought, though, was that Jim would certainly be dead if Oswald hadn't.

Was it better to be a bloodsucking monster or dead?

Jim sank down on the side of the bed, head bowed. Lee would be horrified. Maybe. She wasn't too fond of him these days. Harvey would probably freak out too.

And the really depressing thing was that there was no one else he could turn to.

All he had to talk about this with was Oswald.

He'd burned every other bridge. Even his friendship with Harvey was feeling the strain lately, though the fact that Harvey had come to find him was a good sign.

But that didn't mean that Jim could tell Harvey that he was a vampire now and not expect to get staked or something.

Then again, there were other vampires in the city. Oswald had been turned by one of them, and there were likely to be more. If Jim could find them, maybe he could find someone to confide in who didn't get under his skin the way Oswald did. He couldn't be the only vampire who had struggled with the change.

That seemed like the best plan at the moment.

Jim kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed. He fell asleep in the early hours of the morning without bothering to change out of his clothes.

* * *

Jim slept badly for a few hours and woke up around midday. It was cloudy, but still bright to his new senses. It wasn't leaving him in unbearable pain though, so he knew he was adapting.

Rather than sleep away the rest of the day, Jim decided to get up. He would have to get used to being awake during the day again soon enough, rather than keep to the nocturnal habits he had had once his transformation.

He changed his clothes, leaving the outfit he had slept in draped over a chair with the pajamas he still didn't know the origin of.

The mansion was quiet when Jim ventured out of the room. He poked his head briefly into the room he had left Christine in, but she was gone.

The sound of voices travelled up the stairs, not clear enough that Jim could make out the words, but he recognised Oswald’s voice. He followed the noise downstairs to a living room where Oswald was talking with Christine.

“You didn't follow the code when you turned him, did you?” Christine asked. “If you had, you wouldn't be having these problems.”

“There was no time,” Oswald said. “And it's not necessary to always follow the code.”

“The code exists for a reason,” Christine argued.

“The code is the reason you're still human,” Oswald replied. “I bet Lucas would have turned you when you first asked, instead of making you wait like this, and now he's gone.”

Christine fell silent for a moment. Jim took his chance to join the conversation.

“What's the ‘code’?” he asked.

Christine jumped a little, having not heard him approach. “It's the rules set out by the vampire community.”

“They're more like guidelines,” Oswald interjected.

“There’s a sort of set out procedure for turning someone into a vampire and inducting them into vampire society and Mr Cobblepot is ignoring it all,” Christine replied.

Jim was glad to see that she still seemed well. Perhaps a little pale, but she was healthy enough to talk back to Oswald without any apparent fear. She sat on the sofa, still wearing her dress from the night before, but she had showered and removed her makeup. Oswald sat in an armchair by the fireplace.

“What procedure?” Jim asked.

“There wasn't time,” Oswald said. “You do remember what would have happened without me?”

Jim nodded. The memory was blurry, but he recalled the pain as the bullet hit him, then again when his head hit the floor.

Christine just looked confused. “What do you mean?”

“I was dying,” Jim said, sitting on the sofa by Christine. It felt awkward to keep standing. “I was chasing a man down an alley — he'd murdered his girlfriend, and I was in pursuit. He turned around and fired a few shots, got a lucky hit about here —” He prodded a spot just below his ribcage.  “- and I was bleeding out when Oswald found me. I didn't know he was a vampire until I woke up here later.”

“So there was no time for the code, to follow their set practices,” Oswald said.

Christine glanced between them with a soft look of understanding. “Oh, I had no idea… But, Mr Cobblepot, I don't think the other vampires will be as understanding.”

“I don't care,” Oswald said. “They've never been particularly accepting of me anyway.”

“Because you don't stick to their rules?” Jim asked.

“That, and they didn’t agree to my sire’s decision to turn me,” Oswald replied. “They thought I would be trouble.”

“Wherever did they get that idea?” Jim asked sarcastically.

Oswald shrugged, the air of innocence that he attempted to give ruined by the cheeky wink after.

“So how is it supposed to go when someone gets changed into a vampire?” Jim asked.

“Well, there's meant to be a sort of vetting system,” Christine said. “They don't want just anyone becoming a vampire, and you shouldn't go around just turning people because you can. Too many vampires attracts attention, right? And that means hunters.”

“So it's population control,” Jim said.

“Exactly. But then you also have to consider if you really want to spend eternity with someone. I mean, you're not bound together or anything, and it's a big world to travel, but it's still something to think about, right?” Christine continued.

Jim looked at Oswald. His previous comments about them moving on together later hadn't gone unnoticed, but Jim hadn't given them any thought at the time. Could he really spend the rest of his life with Oswald, if that life wasn't going to end?

Oswald had a fixed expression on his face, avoiding Jim’s gaze. “Well, certainly turning someone should not be done thoughtlessly.”

Christine glanced between them again, sensing tension. “Uh-huh… Anyway, that's just part of it. You also have to think about temperament and personality. You don't want to turn someone who's going to go off the rails once they're turned and bite everyone. You want someone who will be stable, who understands the necessity of being discreet.”

“I guess I'm not the ideal candidate then,” Jim said, blushing as he recalled the night before.

“You were plunged into this without warning, though,” Christine said, placing a comforting hand on his thigh. “If you'd had more time to adjust, been prepared for the change, perhaps you would have reacted differently.”

“So it's my fault?” Oswald asked moodily.

“I could have come here to let Jim try feeding from me instead of meeting you in the city,” Christine pointed out. “We could have discussed it, given him the opportunity to make the decision himself instead of bringing him to the club like that.”

Oswald scowled at her. “He needs to learn in an authentic environment.”

“I seem to recall you telling me that you'd make arrangements with the bloodbank for me, so I wouldn't have to feed from people myself,” Jim replied.

Oswald sighed, like Jim was purposefully failing to grasp simple concepts. “And what about when you're hungry and don't have a supply handy? I doubt the lockers at the precinct are suitable for storing blood and I'm familiar with your tendency to work all hours.”

“I'd work something out,” Jim said stubbornly. “There are refrigerators in the break room. I could keep it in a flask in there and drink when I'm alone.”

Oswald shook his head. “Given the GCPD’s tendency towards corruption, can you really trust your co-workers not to touch your flask?”

Jim shut his mouth with a click of teeth. Oswald had a point, and he didn't have many friends on the force either, thanks to his stance against corruption.

“I thought as much.”

“You could find a Thrall,” Christine suggested. “Someone you trust completely, who would allow you to drink from them when you can't get to your supply.”

Jim immediately thought of Harvey, but dismissed it. He couldn't ask that of his friend, of anybody. Even if Harvey didn't freak out about him being a vampire now, drinking his blood would weaken him, even temporarily. Jim wouldn't do that to him.

“I'll work something out,” he repeated stubbornly.

Oswald and Christine heaved twin sighs, rolling their eyes. Jim tried not to be offended. He would work something out, one way or another. Maybe if he fed before work, he could last a full shift without needing to feed and the overtime he was sure to work as well. He didn't need to resort to biting people.

“I'm not going to get the same way I was last night,” Jim said. “I know better now.”

“If only I could trust you not to make stupid decisions about your own health,” Oswald replied.

Now Jim was offended. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“You're an idiot,” Oswald said. “Do you really need a list of what you've done that could have easily ended with you dead before I turned you?”

“I have a dangerous job,” Jim protested.

“You have no survival instincts,” Oswald countered.

Christine ducked her head, hiding a smile at their bickering.

“What are you talking about?” Jim asked.

“Well, for starters, you ran into a narrow alley after an armed man. If I hadn't had business in the area, I'd have been attending your funeral this past week,” Oswald replied.

Jim scowled. “I couldn't let him get away,” he said. “I don't even know if he was caught afterward. He might be long gone, out of the city by now.”

“I suppose you'll find out when you go back to work,” Oswald replied. “Although, after last night's display, who knows when that will be.”

“Oswald!”

“He kind of has a point?” Christine pointed out. “But you'll be better prepared next time, and you can always give me a call if you need to.”

“I can't stay here,” Jim insisted. “I need to go back to work.”

“At least give it until Monday,” Christine said.

“The physical change is complete,” Oswald said. “But last night showed that you're still adjusting mentally. You have until Monday to prove to me that you're up to working again.”

Monday gave Jim four more days to show that he was capable of acting as a responsible vampire. Four more days of hanging around Oswald’s mansion with nothing to do. He was going to go mad.

Some of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Christine patted his arm lightly and said, “Cheer up, it can't be that bad.”

“You have no idea,” Jim said.

“I'm sure we'll find some way to entertain you,” Oswald said, smirking.

Jim did his best to hide the cold dread trickling down his spine. That smirk did not bode well for him.

* * *

“I thought we might work on ways you can hide what you are today,” Oswald said later, after sending Christine home with one of his drivers. “I hadn't expected you to be up this early, though, but this is good.”

Jim scowled unhappily. “I'm sure I'll manage,” he said. “How hard can it be?”

“You ran nearly ten miles without stopping last night, faster than any human could manage,” Oswald pointed out. “If Victor wasn't taking care of any witnesses — “

“Whoa, wait, what do you mean ‘taking care of witnesses’?” Jim asked.

“I mean he's doing whatever is necessary to keep the news about you quiet, whether that means quietly dispatching some unfortunate who was in the wrong place at the wrong time or buying enough drugs or alcohol to cast doubt on their credibility,” Oswald replied coldly. “I've left it up to his discretion.”

Jim was even unhappier about that. “I didn't see anyone last night,” he said.

“You were half-mad with overloaded senses and hunger,” Oswald pointed out. “And you _were_ seen, which put both of us in danger _and_ the people who saw you. At least you had the sense to keep to dark alleys. Only a few homeless people, drunks and junkies were around to witness your reckless behaviour.”

Jim’s shoulders dropped in shame. He knew he had been stupid, but he hadn't considered the consequences for the innocent bystanders who may have seen him last night.

“I suppose you're going to tell me about how I should have listened to you.”

“Maybe if I say it often enough, it will sink in,” Oswald snapped. “But I won't hold my breath.”

Jim winced inwardly.

“Now, moving on.” Oswald took a deep breath to calm himself down. “We're going to work on pretending you're human still.”

“I've been human until now, I think I can manage,” Jim replied.

“How fast could you run as a human? For how long, before you were aching and out of breath? How much could you lift without your arms shaking with the effort?” Oswald demanded. “Will you remember that you should be out of breath when chasing down criminals? Will you remember that getting shot is meant to be something you can't just shrug off?”

Jim had no answer. He knew already that if it came down to risking himself getting shot and surviving, and one of his colleagues being killed, he would put himself in the line of fire every time.

“I'll be fine,” he insisted.

“Regardless of what you think, we will be doing this until I'm satisfied that you won't be putting us in danger,” Oswald replied.

“Fine,” Jim snapped. “What do you want me to do?”

“You're going to show me your acting skills,” Oswald said, settling back with a smirk.

Jim got a sinking feeling, but he'd already decided that he would do whatever it took to protect people from himself, even if that meant listening to Oswald. “What do you need me to do?”

Oswald hesitated a moment, as if caught by surprise, but he recovered smoothly. “Follow me,” he said, smiling.

What Jim’s ‘acting’ really involved running around Oswald’s gardens at what felt like a leisurely pace and then pretending to be out of breath while Oswald found fault with everything. He was either too fast, too slow, too obvious, not putting enough effort in or putting too much effort in.

“You don't have to be so exaggerated,” Oswald said. “We can't do anything about the fact that you're not red-faced and sweating, so you don't want to act like you've just run a marathon. Just… breathe a little heavier for a minute or two, and then you can stop.”

Jim stopped his latest attempt at pretense and straightened up. “Are you sure this is really going to help?”

“Of course it will,” Oswald said. “Now, again — to the treeline and back.”

“Is it really necessary for me to run?” Jim asked.

“Yes,” Oswald replied. “Get on with it.”

Jim turned to run, rolling his eyes as he did so. He caught a glimpse of Oswald as he did so, and saw Oswald’s gaze sweep downwards. Was he checking him out?

Jim ran to the treeline and back as instructed. He had no intention of saying anything, whether Oswald had been checking him out or not. He may have been mistaken. It was just a glimpse, after all. If Oswald had been checking him out, then Jim would need more evidence before he did anything.

Though he wasn't sure what exactly he would do.

This time, Oswald judged Jim’s act of light panting ‘acceptable enough for now’ and let him come inside.

“Now we see how you act at dinner,” Oswald said, leading the way to the dining room.

“What?” Jim stopped in surprise.

Oswald turned back to him, slightly impatient. “Dinner, Jim.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “You've only had blood since you were turned. Now you see what it is like to eat human food as a vampire. Remember, your senses are heightened, so you'll taste things a bit more Intensely. I've had Olga prepare something a bit more bland for you tonight, but you can experiment a little, if you so desire. Just… don't arrest anyone at the dinner table.”

Jim had begun to relax as Oswald explained but the last remark had him on his guard again. “What?”

“You heard me,” Oswald replied. “Now, I should let you know that my guests tonight are aware of our true nature, but I expect you to act as human as possible. Be polite, make conversation, don't start any arguments and don't arrest anyone.”

“I'm not sure this is a good idea,” Jim said.

“Nonsense.” Oswald patted his arm. “It won't be that bad. No one's going to be committing any crimes at the dinner table.” He paused, then muttered under his breath, “Well, probably not. I did warn them.”

“You're not filling me with confidence,” Jim replied.

“Everything will be fine, Jim,” Oswald assured him, smiling the same way he had during his mayoral campaign trying to persuade people to vote for him.

Jim only felt more on edge.

A short while later, he was sat at a table with Oswald and two young women. One he recognised as Bridgit Pike. The other was the girl he had heard speaking with Oswald before their trip to the Iceberg Lounge, who introduced herself to him now as Ivy Pepper. Jim knew his initial gut feeling was right. He hadn't recognised her as Ivy at first, as she'd still been a young child when Jim had last seen her, lurking behind her mother when Jim visited their apartment. He couldn't forget his first case after transferring to that precinct, tracking down the Waynes’ killer only to find that the man they killed in the line of duty was innocent. This Ivy was older, though, thanks to a run-in with one of Professor Strange’s experiments, as she explained.

He remembered Bridgit as well, the young arsonist who became one of Strange’s experiments, one of the escapees who fell in with Oswald after his stint as mayor fell apart. She hadn’t exactly been chatty during their last meeting, when Oswald confronted him outside his apartment about Edward and the Court of Owls. Jim was surprised she had decided to follow Oswald, given that he had risen to the position of mayor.

Both of them remembered him very well, it seemed, and the way they watched him made him feel like a caged canary surrounded by cats.

Only Oswald seemed completely at ease, urging the girls to try different dishes, conversing naturally as though this was a regular occurrence.

“How's your meal, Jim?” Oswald asked, smiling at him from across the table.

“Um. It's fine,” Jim replied. True to Oswald’s word, the cook had made him something plain, roast chicken with some steamed vegetables and a mild gravy. Oswald had warned him that flavours would be more intense, so he had tried to prepare himself mentally, but even so, it still felt like too much. But he wouldn’t back down when he knew the girls sitting opposite him were looking for any kind of weakness in him.

“Oswald says you've been on a liquid diet since your injury,” Ivy said, all wide-eyed, over-acted innocence.

“I bet that sucked,” Bridgit added dryly.

The girls glanced at each other and snorted with laughter. If Jim didn't know that they knew about him, he would know now.

“Subtle,” Oswald remarked sarcastically.

“They’re not wrong,” Jim said. “I've not exactly been having a fangtastic time lately.”

Oswald slammed his hands down on the table and glared. “Do not encourage them!”

“Not a fan of puns?”

“No puns, no wordplay, and absolutely no riddles,” Oswald snapped.

“This is a riddle-free household,” Ivy added.

“No riddles,” Jim agreed. “Any other rules I should know about? Aside from ‘don't arrest anyone’?” he added, with a glance at Oswald.

“Be nice to plants,” Ivy said immediately.

“Uh… okay,” Jim said, a little unsure.

“I mean it,” Ivy said firmly. “They’re better than most people.”

Jim considered that for a moment. “I guess I see your point. Be nice to plants. I can do that.” He cast a glance at Oswald to see if he had anything to add.

Oswald shrugged, bemused but used to Ivy’s behaviour by now. “If you'd like to explain later, I'm sure Jim will listen.”

Ivy cast uncertain glances between the two men. “Maybe,” she said eventually.

Now Jim was curious, but he made up his mind not to push the issue. He couldn't imagine that Ivy would want to talk to him at all, given that his investigation had led to her father's death.

“If we're giving you rules, does that mean you're living here from now on?” Bridgit asked. “Because I can see that causing problems for you, Detective.”

“I'm not staying,” Jim said quickly. “This is just temporary.”

“Until he's well enough to go home,” Oswald said. “Though who knows how long that will take.”

“If I can go back to work on Monday, then I can go back home,” Jim replied.

“I've seen the hovel you currently call home,” Oswald said. “I wouldn't be in such a hurry to get back to it if I were you.”

Jim shrugged. “It's mine, and it's close to the precinct.” He knew his apartment was a mess, that it was a bit run down and not in the best part of the city — far from it, really. It was more of a place to sleep at the end of the day, whenever that happened to be, than an actual place to call home, but he refused to feel ashamed of it. Well, maybe a little, because of the mess, but it wasn't like he had many visitors these days.

“But you’ll visit, right?” Ivy said. “I mean, it's not like you know anyone else in your… situation,” she added, lowering her voice a little.

“I guess I could,” Jim said, shifting uncomfortably. He glanced at Oswald. “I mean, as long as I’m not unwelcome.”

Dropping by Oswald’s club was one thing. It was in the city, much more accessible than Oswald’s home out on the edge of the city where there was more than enough space for a sprawling mansion and grounds. The club was also more public. There would be more witnesses if Jim chose to drop by for any reason, whether it be police business or vampire business. But dropping by Oswald’s mansion felt more intimate. Even when Jim came to Oswald for assistance with his cases, he never came to the mansion. He always waited until he knew Oswald would be in the city, at his club.

Oswald smiled at Jim, almost the way he used to and leaned over the table towards him. “Jim, old friend, you’re never unwelcome here.”

“Even if I come to arrest you?” Jim couldn’t help but ask.

“You won’t,” Oswald said, with absolute certainty.

The worst part about that was that Jim knew he was right. Now that he knew what Oswald was, how being unable to drink blood regularly would affect him, Jim would never be able to arrest Oswald and see him locked away in Arkham or Blackgate, no matter what crimes Oswald committed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is loved and encouraged :)
> 
> Also, you can find me over on tumblr as [emmageddon](http://emmageddon.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Chapter 5 is in progress, however I'm also working on a fic for gobblepot week so there will be a delay.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim goes home, all ready to go back to work. He's just not as prepared as he thinks he is, especially not for the kinds of things he can now hear. :)
> 
> And since this is Gotham, and crime never stops, there's a new murder to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who have left feedback, whether it be comments or kudos. I appreciate every single one. <3
> 
> Thank you to [thekeyholder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder) for betaing. <3

Jim was confident in his ability to pass as someone who was still human among his colleagues, but Oswald was insistent that he needed to practice. So the next few days were spent pretending that Jim didn't have any of the enhanced senses, strength or speed of a vampire. Jim was of the opinion that Oswald was just looking for ways to irritate him, or keep him too busy to go snooping around the manor.

He didn't see much of the others around the mansion after their dinner together, but he heard them sometimes. Jim got the feeling they were avoiding him. But then, he wasn't exactly sociable anyway. The fact that he was a lone cop in a house full of criminals didn't help him relax and feel at home at all. If he had to be in anyone's company, he preferred Oswald, but Oswald was sometimes busy. Jim tried not to think about what Oswald was doing at those times. The less he thought about Oswald’s criminal activities, the better, at least while he was staying at the manor. 

The Sunday before he was due back at work, Oswald came to Jim and revealed just what he had been doing for the past few days. He dismissed his usual driver, and drove them into the city himself, but instead of heading for the club, or anywhere Jim was familiar with, they arrived at a nondescript tall building. The sign at the entrance declared it to be the Gotham Blood Bank. 

Oswald ignored the signs directing them to the main entrance and drove around the side of the building instead. He stopped the car out of sight of the main road, in the shadow of the building, and got out.

Oswald led Jim over to a side entrance to the building. Someone had left some graffiti on a fire exit, decorating it with overlapping pictures and scrawls of letters and names that Jim would have ordinarily overlooked, if Oswald hadn’t pointed out two specific symbols. The first was a cross with a loop at the top.

Oswald tapped it with his umbrella. “This symbol is an ankh. Vampires use it to signify places where we’re welcome, usually in social settings — clubs and bars, that sort of thing, but in other places, too. There are other symbols for some of the other people you’ll meet, but I’ll explain them to you later. Right now, this is the main symbol to remember.” 

Oswald tapped another symbol spray-painted on the door. This symbol was vaguely square-ish, a single unbroken line that made up four separated corners. “This symbol is a shield knot, and it means the building is a safezone. A sanctuary, somewhere we can visit without fear of being attacked. Conflict is not allowed within a building with this symbol. That means you don’t draw your weapons for any reason, you keep your fangs to yourself unless a Thrall has invited you to drink from them and if you must fight, you take it outside.”

Jim nodded to show he understood.

“Now, let's go inside.” Oswald tapped on the door.

It was opened from the inside, by an aging man in a security guard uniform. He grinned at them, and waved them inside. “Come on, come on inside, before I get old,” he said, cheerfully.

Oswald returned the man’s smile, entering ahead of Jim, who only felt confused. They entered into a white corridor, the only splash of colour being the green fire exit sign above their heads. Corridors stretched out ahead of them and to either side, signposts pointing the way to storage rooms and offices, and laboratories.

“You’re the fledgling, huh?” the security guard said to Jim. “I’m William. Bill, to my friends and associates.” He held out his hand and Jim shook it, feeling off balance.

“I’m Jim Gordon.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jim,” Bill replied.

“We don’t have all night,” Oswald said, a touch impatiently. 

Bill gave him a look. “Yeah, you do. You’ve got eternity. I’ve got maybe twenty years at most. Learn a little patience, yeah?”

Oswald rolled his eyes and scowled.

“You’re only annoyed because he’s right,” Jim said.

“We have other places to be tonight,” Oswald said. “So we should get our business here over with so we can move on.”

“Fine, fine, I get it. You’re both going to be young and attractive forever, whereas I’m just an old man,” Bill grumbled good-naturedly. He began walking off down the corridor to the right. “Follow me, the stuff is in my office.”

Bill led them to the security office, where many TV screens displayed various parts of the building, inside and outside, except for two of them, which showed only white static.

“Technical glitch,” Bill said, noticing where Jim was looking. “I’d fix it, but I’m just an old man. What do I know about technology?” He winked, and Jim suddenly understood. They would be seen on these screens, if they were working. “Now then, this is for you.” He reached under the desk and lifted up a medical transport box. “There’s about two weeks’ supply in here. After that, you give me a call and I’ll get you some more.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a plain white business card.

Jim took it. All that was on it was Bill’s first name and a cell phone number, printed over an embossed letter H.

“I run a discreet service here,” Bill said. “Don’t need to attract the wrong sort of people. Hunters, I mean,” he explained. “And cops too, I guess. It’s not exactly legal, but it’s necessary, wouldn’t you say?”

Jim wasn’t the least bit surprised to hear that it wasn’t legal, but if his only other options were hurting innocent people or animals, then he would choose the blood bank. “Yeah, necessary,” he agreed. 

“Jim’s a cop, but he can bend the rules when it suits him,” Oswald said, not a little smugly. 

Jim shot him a warning look. Now was not the time for that kind conversation.

Bill looked between them. “If you two are going to have a domestic, take it out of here, please,” he said. “Actually, you should probably get a move on anyway. I’m not the only guard working tonight, just the only one in the vampire loop, and I don’t want to have to explain to Todd what the hell you’re doing here. He’ll get me in trouble, brown-nosing little bastard that he is.”

Jim grabbed the medical transport box as Bill led them out of the security office and back along the corridor to the fire exit. 

“How did you end up doing this?” he asked, indicating the box in his hands. “I can't imagine it was part of the job description.”

“I was a Thrall once, long ago, back when I was young and handsome. There was a vampire all ready to turn me but then…” Bill reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He showed Jim a picture of a much younger version of himself, sitting with a pretty young woman, a child balanced on each of their laps. “I met my Mary. Oh, she was a beauty. Still is. It didn’t take me long to realise I couldn’t give her up, couldn’t bring her into the life of a vampire either.” 

Bill shrugged, tucking the wallet away. “So I gave it up, married her instead. But you don’t forget the things you learn under a vampire’s wing, and they didn’t forget me either. So they made me useful, got me a steady job with a regular wage, and a nice bonus every time someone like yourself or Mr Cobblepot turns up in need of a little sustenance. I live well, Mary lives well, my kids and grandkids, too. In a few years, they'll replace me, when I'm up for retirement. I'll get some time to train up a replacement, introduce them to the usual customers and then it's off to warmer climes.”

He seemed so happy that Jim felt envious. He had had a good life. Could Jim say the same?

Bill ushered them out into the chilly night air, firmly shutting the door behind them.

“Now what?” Jim asked.

“Now I show you the rest of my gift to you,” Oswald said. “The introduction at the blood bank is only the first part. If you're determined not to drink from people, you need a steady supply, and also somewhere to store it.”

They got back into the car, Jim placing the medical transport box on the floor between his feet. 

“What are you planning now?” he asked Oswald. 

“You'll see,” Oswald said.

He drove them through the city, to a more familiar area. Jim watched the street outside, then turned to Oswald, slightly disbelieving.

“Your surprise is taking me home?” he asked. “I'm cramping your style that badly you can't wait to get rid of me now?”

Oswald glanced at him, slightly annoyed. “Actually, your surprise is in your apartment. I got you a gift.”

“A gift? Oswald, I can't —” Jim began, thinking of the stories that would circulate if it got around that he had accepted a gift from the city’s most notorious gangster.

“You can and you will,” Oswald interrupted. “It's something I believe you'll find necessary.” He turned the car into an alley across the road, where it would be less obvious. 

Jim was surprised at the thoughtfulness. If anyone saw Oswald’s car outside his apartment, there would be questions. There would already be questions; if they knew Jim had been staying with Oswald over the past week, there would already be questions and Jim had little desire to add to them. 

“So when you say my surprise is  _ in _ my apartment…” Jim began. “Did you break in?”

“Your lock is ridiculously easy to pick,” Oswald replied. “I'm honestly shocked that such a fine, upstanding member of the GCPD doesn't have better security.”

“Oswald…” Jim growled. 

Oswald sighed, and produced a key out of his pocket. “Actually, I had a copy made while you were unconscious for a few days. But the remark about better security still stands,” he added, unlocking the door with his key.

“I don't think I like you having a key to my apartment,” Jim said, frowning.

Oswald gave a nonchalant shrug. “We all have things we don't like and have to deal with.” He entered the apartment, uncaring of Jim’s feelings on the matter.

“Give me the key, Oswald,” Jim demanded, following close behind, closing the door behind them.

Oswald held the key up, contemplating it. “I'll think about it,” he said, putting it in his pocket.

“Oswald!” Jim snapped.

“Let's check out your gift, shall we?” Oswald replied, smiling at Jim’s frustration.

“Fine.” Jim glanced around his living room, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Except for one thing. “Did you… clean my apartment?”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Oswald sniffed. “I paid a team of cleaners to do it. No need to thank me. The place was filthy.”

“It wasn't that bad,” Jim said defensively. “Some dust. Maybe some takeout containers I would have thrown out if I hadn't been shot and turned into a vampire.”

Oswald stared him down. Jim flushed under the attention. Maybe he was understating the condition off his apartment, but it wasn't as though the place had been piled high with junk. It was just a little clutter.

“So what about this gift, then?” Jim asked, breaking eye contact.

“It's in the bedroom,” Oswald said, smirking victoriously. He gestured for Jim to walk ahead of him. 

Jim glared, but said nothing. 

The first thing he spotted was the new nightstand by his bed. It was considerably bigger than his old one, but didn't look out of place. There was a drawer compartment at the top, and a cupboard underneath.

“Open the cupboard,” Oswald said.

Jim glanced at him suspiciously, but did as he was told.

Opening the wooden cupboard door revealed another door, this one chrome with a green pad by the handle. Jim looked at Oswald quizzically.

“A medical fridge, to store your blood supply. There’s a fingerprint scanner to unlock it, so only you can access it. This way, you don’t have to worry about anyone stumbling across it in your fridge.The nightstand keeps it discreet. I know you’re not used to that, but you will have to learn.” Oswald watched him expectantly.

Jim glanced at the fridge again, turned back to Oswald. “Thanks,” he said, awkwardly. “I hadn’t really thought about it, but you’re right. If Harvey comes over, he has no problem getting beer out of my fridge. He’d find the blood sooner or later, so this is… this is good. Thank you.”

Oswald’s smile grew with every stilted word out of Jim’s mouth, but it wasn’t the smug, mocking smile Jim had expected. This was closer to genuinely delighted, the kind of smile Oswald had always given him in the early days of their relationship.

“You’re welcome, Jim,” Oswald replied. “You should put your supply away as soon as possible.”

It was a clear hint to test the fridge and make sure that it worked. Jim pressed his finger to the scanner, waited a moment and opened the door when it beeped.

“I guess it works,” Jim said. He reached for the medical transport box and started putting the bags of blood inside. 

“Now, I shall take my leave and let you adjust to being home again, but don’t be a stranger. Remember, you’re welcome at the club and at my home, should you ever need to drop in.” 

Jim nodded. He hadn't expected any less. But being dropped off at his apartment like this felt anticlimactic somehow, after the time he had spent with Oswald. It was on the tip of his tongue to invite Oswald to stay a little longer, but he restrained himself.

“Yeah, I guess I'll see you around,” he said instead. 

What would they even do if Oswald did stay? They weren't friends. Actually, Jim wasn't sure what they were anymore. Staying at the manor hadn't felt like being in enemy territory. It had been strange, but not uncomfortable. Perhaps it had to do with the new dimension to his relationship with Oswald. They weren't allies, except under extenuating circumstances, and Jim had considered Oswald… maybe not an enemy, as such, but certainly as someone problematic, as someone dangerous who needed to be dealt with, who needed to be arrested and locked away. If his life was a story, then Oswald was the antagonist to Jim’s protagonist. Now, with the new knowledge of Oswald’s vampiric nature and having been turned himself, everything felt a lot more complicated. 

After seeing Oswald out, Jim called Harvey to let him know he was returning to work the next day. 

“Penguin finally let you go, huh? What happened anyway? How did you end up in his care?” Harvey asked. “I would have tried to get you out of there sooner, but it's been really busy.”

“It's fine,” Jim said. “It wasn't so bad. I was shot and I guess I got an infection or something. Penguin helped me through it.”

“I don't need to tell you to watch yourself around him,” Harvey said. “He'll see that as a favour and come to collect sooner or later.”

“I can handle Penguin,” Jim replied. “Don't worry.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the call. “Jim, you're not getting yourself into some kind of trouble with Penguin, are you?”

“There's nothing to worry about,” Jim said. “Trust me.”

“I trust you to end up neck deep in all kinds of bullshit, Jim,” Harvey said. “I know you too well.”

Jim felt a pang of guilt, but there was no way he could tell Harvey about vampires. He would think Jim was mad at best or dangerous at worst, and both scenarios led to him turning on Jim. 

“There's nothing to tell,” Jim said. 

It was clear from the silence that followed that Harvey didn't believe him. “If you say so, Jim. But just so you know, that day I came to Penguin’s place, you didn't just look sick, you looked drugged, and don't think I missed the way you were clinging to him.”

“I was barely aware of anything,” Jim replied. “I reached out and he was close, I guess. I just remember being in pain.”

“Fine. Don't tell me anything,” Harvey said. “I'll see you at work tomorrow. You better be in early. I have so much work for you, you’ll beg to get shot again.”

“Bet I'll be in before you,” Jim replied, grinning.

He disconnected the call, feeling a bit better. 

At least until he remembered that half his clothes were still at Oswald’s home. But he would get them another time. He had enough clothes to wear for the next few days. 

With nothing else to do for the rest of the night, Jim heated up some blood to drink and settled down for a rare night in front of the TV. When he finally drifted off to sleep, his dreams were filled with bright sunlight, crowds of people and an overwhelming sense of danger.

* * *

As predicted, Jim arrived at the precinct before Harvey, but only by a few minutes. He had decided to drink more of his blood supply before coming in, rather than bring any into the precinct until he was sure he would be able to keep it in a secure location without colleagues tampering with it. 

A few colleagues gave Jim a wave or a nod as he entered, but most glanced at him and turned to gossip amongst each other. Jim heard his name whispered alongside mentions of Oswald.

_ “So what do you think the boy scout has really been up to with Penguin?” _

_ “Seriously? You know their history, right? And with them all alone in that mansion for a couple of weeks…” _

_ “If Penguin is involved, do you really want to think about that?”  _

_ “Wait, really? You think they're…?” _

_ “They've always had a strange relationship. No one else is like that with a mob contact.” _

_ “Penguin’s always had a crush anyway. You can tell. Little creep couldn't be more obvious if he tried.” _

_ “And Gordon likes that?” _

_ “He'd have put a stop to it by now if he didn't, right?” _

It took Jim a moment to realise that they thought he was sleeping with Oswald, and he fought not to look at the gossiping group. He could feel the blush heating his face and the back of his neck. He wanted to correct them, but couldn't without making a scene. Besides, a quick glance showed that they were by the duty officer’s desk at the other side of the bullpen. As a human, Jim would have never been able to hear them. 

“Hey, Jim, glad you could make it. I almost thought you'd rather go back to lazing around Oswald’s mansion,” Harvey said, coming up behind Jim. 

Jim shrugged. “Having a cop around was cramping his criminal lifestyle,” he replied dryly. “So, you going to catch me up on what I've missed?”

“Yeah, sure. Let me just get Harper over here. She took over your cases while you were gone,” Harvey said. He beckoned her over and took them both into his office. 

“Harper?”

“Detective Vanessa Harper,” Harvey said, beckoning an unfamiliar woman over. “She’s just started here, shortly after you got sick. Harper, this is Jim Gordon.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Harper said. “Heard you were pretty sick for a while.”

“Yeah,” Jim said. “I'm doing much better now, though.”

“I suppose you'll be glad to know we got the guy who shot you,” she said. “Turned himself in a couple of days later. Something about shooting a cop had him shook up in a way that shooting his girlfriend didn't.”

Jim nodded, and privately wondered if it was just shooting a cop that had prompted his perp to turn himself in, or if Oswald had had something to do with it. Then again, Oswald would likely have had him killed, if he was truly so invested in protecting Jim. 

“So what else has happened in my absence?” Jim asked.

Between them, Harvey and Harper filled him in on the other things that had happened, other developments on cases he had been working on. There was still paperwork that needed his signature, and cold cases that Harper hadn't really had time for, so after the briefing, they left him at his desk to get on with things.

It was hard to concentrate though. Jim had never realised how noisy the precinct was before. There was always some chatter, of course, but now Jim could hear every conversation, every scratch of every pen, every clink of handcuffs as criminals were escorted into or out of the holding cell. 

“Are you okay?” Harper asked.

Jim jumped, having not picked out her footsteps coming closer among the cacophony of the precinct. “Fine. I'm fine. I just need some air, I think.” He stood up, wincing at the sound of his chair scraping on the floor, and all but fled the room.

Rather than head out into the noisy street, Jim went up to the roof. It was quieter up there and more peaceful. Almost as soon as the door closed behind him, Jim wanted to kick himself. He was supposed to be convincing everyone that he was perfectly fine and that nothing had changed and yet here he was, running from a bit of noise. 

It made him miss the peace and quiet of Oswald’s mansion. 

He pulled out his phone to text Oswald, before he realised what he was doing, and paused, staring at Oswald’s name on the screen. 

He heard footsteps behind him and hurriedly put his phone away, but it was still a minute or so before Harvey pushed open the roof access door. 

“You sure you're okay, Jim?” he asked.

Jim nodded. “Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I didn't mean to worry you.”

Harvey frowned. “Are you sure? I know you said you were sick, but if Penguin’s done something or he has some kind of hold over you, you know you can tell me, right?”   


Jim could have laughed. If Oswald had done something indeed. But this was something Harvey couldn't help with, if he would even understand. “There's nothing you need to worry about,” Jim said. “Trust me, Harv. Everything is fine.”

“The more you say that, the more convinced I am that Penguin has you up shit creek without a paddle,” Harvey informed him. “You two have always been weird about each other and now you've been staying with him, it's just getting weirder.”

Jim’s mind went back involuntarily to when he caught Oswald checking him out as he ran lengths in the garden. 

“Weird?” he asked.

Harvey gave him a look. “Yeah, weird. I mean, I've sort of gotten used to it over the years, but it's still pretty strange.”

Jim shrugged. “It works for us,” he said. He frowned, remembering the gossip he had heard in the bullpen. “There are… rumours about me and Oswald.”

“You mean the bullshit about you two sleeping together? Are you telling me you only just heard about that?” Harvey asked, grinning. “Those rumours have been flying around for ages.”

“You do know they're not true, right?” Jim said, a little desperately.

“Yeah, I know that, but you did just spend a couple weeks holed up in his mansion and no one knew why. You can't blame them for speculating once word got out that's where you were,” Harvey said. “Now, are you ready to come down, ‘cause I got a new case for you.”

“Yeah, okay.”

* * *

Oswald sat with a glass of wine, staring into the fire. It wasn't even noon, but he didn't care. 

“Are you moping? You're moping, aren't you?” Ivy asked. “Is this because Jim left?”

“I'm not moping,” Oswald replied, scowling. 

“So, what, you just woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?” Ivy said. She stood over him, arms folded. “I want to go out.”

“Then go,” Oswald said. “I'm not keeping you here.”

Ivy sighed. “I mean, I want to go out somewhere with you,” she said. “Come on.”

“Where do you intend to go?” Oswald asked.

Ivy shrugged. “The park, maybe? The botanical gardens? We could go to the club. I mean, Jim is more likely to visit you there, isn't he? You can make up some excuse about work or whatever if you don't want to admit to waiting for him,” she said, oblivious to the glare Oswald was giving her by the end.

“Ivy,” he said, gaining her attention. “I'm not moping, not waiting for Jim or anything like that. If anything, I am waiting for the moment when everything comes crashing down and I have to bail him out of trouble again. Now, get out and leave me alone!” He pointed emphatically at the door.

Ivy scowled. “I'm trying to help, but if you don't want that, then fine.” She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her. 

Oswald sank back in his chair with a sigh. He swirled the wine around his glass, and then drained it in one sudden movement.

Damn it all. She was right in one respect. He couldn't sit around doing nothing all day.

He found her a few minutes later in the greenhouse, muttering darkly to her plants.

“...only trying to help, he doesn't have to be so mean…”

Oswald cleared his throat to get her attention. Unnervingly, all the plants in the greenhouse turned the flowers and leaves towards him at the same time Ivy looked up at him, but he had learned to ignore that. 

“I'm going to the Iceberg Lounge. You have exactly five minutes to get ready if you'd like to come along,” Oswald said. He turned to leave, and braced himself as he heard her run up behind him.

“Thank you, Pengy!” Ivy threw her arms around him for a brief hug.

“Yes, yes. I do actually have work to be getting on with, so this isn't going to be a pleasure trip. Five minutes, remember?” Oswald said.

“Yeah, yeah…” 

Ivy ran off to get ready, though Oswald wasn't entirely surprised that it took her longer than five minutes to meet him in the front hallway. 

* * *

The new case that had just been called in turned out to be the murder of a young man whose body had been discovered in an alleyway, hidden between two dumpsters. Jim and Harper arrived at the scene and ducked under the police tape.

“What have we got?” Jim asked the nearest officer.

“White male, mid twenties, no ID on him, but the woman who found him says his name was Alex. He was shot, or maybe stabbed, in the side,” the officer said. “It happened closer to the street, but whoever got him moved him down between the dumpsters and then threw some garbage bags over the blood. The woman who found him is over there.” The officer nodded to where a woman stood, head bowed amd with her arms wrapped around herself. 

“Christine?” Jim said, surprised.

Christine jerked around, mouth falling open in shock. Her eyes were red from crying. “Jim?”

“You know her?” Harper asked.

“She's a friend, helped me out of a tight spot not so long ago. Let me talk to her. You go see what forensics have to say,” Jim said. 

Harper nodded and left him alone to question Christine.

“You found the body?” he asked.

Christine nodded, wiping her eyes. “Yeah. Alex. He… I knew him. Not well, but we… we moved in the same circles,” she said, giving him a significant look. 

Jim nodded, immediately understanding. Alex had been a Thrall like her. “Any idea what he was doing around here? How did you find him?”

“There's a club, of sorts  — a members-only sort of place not far from here, the Osiris Club. I guess he'd been there, or was on his way when they got him. I can’t get in anymore, but I have a friend who lives a few blocks over. I was taking a shortcut to visit her and...” She trailed off with a shuddering breath. “Alex was harmless. Why would anyone do this to him?”

“This club, you think anyone there might know anything? Who might want to hurt him?” Jim asked.

Christine shrugged. “Maybe? I dunno.” She paused, looking hesitant. 

“Christine, if you know something, you need to tell me,” Jim said quietly.

“It's vampire business,” Christine said, lowering her voice. “Or it might be. Not for the police. I mean, I don’t think one of them did this, it’s not their style, but they won’t want the GCPD investigating. They’d rather do this on their own. I didn’t even mean to get the police involved, I just screamed and one of the officers over there heard me.”

“Christine, whoever did this, they killed a human, not a vampire. That makes this police business,” Jim said gently. 

Christine shook her head. “I don't know, but maybe you’re right...” She trailed off, gaze sliding past Jim to where Harper approached. “I've told you all I know for sure.”

“We'll still need you down at the station to give an official statement,” Jim said.

Christine nodded. “Okay.”

“Jim, a word?” Harper said, jerking her head towards the corpse.

“Yeah, what's up?” Jim gave Christine a parting nod and joined Harper on the other side of the alley.

“Forensics say there's something lodged in the wound. They're getting ready to take him back for an autopsy now. Does your friend know anything?” Harper asked.

Jim shrugged. “That remains to be seen. She knew him, but not well enough to know if anyone specifically wanted to do him harm. It might be a robbery gone wrong, for all we know at this stage. Still, can't rule anything out.”

“You know that means we can't rule her out as a suspect either,” Harper said.

Jim glanced over at Christine. He didn't know her well enough to say if she was capable of murder or not. She certainly didn't look the type, but then, plenty of other murderers didn't look the type either. Still, for Christine’s sake, he hoped she was innocent.

Christine accompanied them back to the station, saying she would rather get things over with. Jim sat her down by his desk to take her statement while Harper filled Harvey in on what they knew so far. There was nothing else to do until Lucius came back to them with the autopsy report. 

Jim had her repeat her story of how she found the body while he made notes. 

“When did you last see Alex before today?” Jim asked.

“Um, about a while ago, before… before my friend, Lucas, disappeared,” Christine answered.

“And this was at the Osiris Club you mentioned before?”

Christine nodded. “Yes. I can’t get in without Lucas, because I’m his ‘plus one’, not a full member, so it’s been a while since I’ve been and I’ve never met Alex anywhere else.”

“Any chance you can tell me where it is?” 

“I could,” Christine said hesitantly. “But they might not let you in. You'd need a referral to become a member, even if you are a —” She broke off, clearly thinking better of saying the word ‘vampire’ in a busy police precinct. “If you are their preferred type of customer. Or someone with a membership to get you in as a plus one,” she finished.

“What's this?” Harvey said, coming out of his office to catch the tail end of the conversation.

“Our victim, Alex, was seen at an exclusive club in the area. Christine says she can tell us where it is, but we might not gain access,” Jim explained.

“A warrant will get us access to anywhere,” Harvey told her.

“No,” Christine blurted out. “I mean, you don't need to go that far. I — I can't get you in, but… I know who could.”

Jim and Harvey turned to her with twin questioning expressions.

Christine gave Jim a significant look, then sighed when he didn't seem to get it.

“Mr Cobblepot, of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on Chapter 6, maybe around 3/4 of the way through, so I'll hopefully have it done soon.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and feel free to leave a comment or kudos. :) You can also find me on tumblr as as [emmageddon](http://emmageddon.tumblr.com/) if you want. :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Oswald ~~go on a date~~ investigate a murder together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a little while since I last updated this, but I have been hard at work on this chapter, and future chapters as well as dealing with life in general. The plot is moving along now, and we're going to see Jim and Oswald's relationship developing too. :)
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely [thekeyholder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thekeyholder). Thank you for all your help. :D

Jim had hoped to go a week or two without turning to Oswald for any kind of help, but it seemed the fates conspired against him. Christine gave the address for the Osiris Club and was allowed to leave.

“If you think of anything else, or you find anything else out, give me a call, alright?” Jim said, as he led her out of the building. He gave her a card with his number on it.

Christine took it and slipped it into her pocket. “I will… but you know that what I find out might not be for the GCPD to hear,” she said.

Jim nodded, understanding. “Even so, I would appreciate you letting me know. Do you need to call a cab?” he asked.

“No need. My friend will pick me up,” Christine said, turning toward the road. “She's probably on her way already.”

Jim frowned. He hadn't seen her call anyone, but perhaps she had made the call before they met at the crime scene? Though how Christine knew to tell her friend to meet her at the precinct and at what time was a complete mystery. Yet as they made their way down the steps outside the precinct, a silver sedan pulled up by the side of the road.

“There she is now,” Christine said, hurrying forwards.

A tall woman with dark, untamed wavy hair got out of the car and met her halfway. She was dressed in a long, flowing dress and sandals, despite the chilly weather. Her silver jewellery clinked as she moved, embracing Christine.

“I'm so sorry, my dear,” she said in a low voice. She then looked at Jim, smiling widely. “Hello, Detective Gordon.” She held her hand out. “My name is Verity Summers. It's good to meet you at last.”

“Uh, likewise,” Jim said, a little dubious, but he shook her hand all the same. The feeling of uncertainty grew as Verity’s smile grew.

Verity laughed. “I'd better get Christine home. You have places to be, detective. We'll meet again though.”

“We will?” Jim said, confused.

“We will. Until next time.”

As the two women walked away, Jim heard snatches of their conversation and Christine reprimanded her friend ‘for confusing Jim like that’. Her friend wasn't put off in the slightest, laughing until they got in the car and drove away.

* * *

The Iceberg Lounge was almost empty, except for Ivy, who was perched on a stool and was painting her nails a glittery green colour. She looked up as Jim walked in. She smiled sweetly, though Jim wasn't fooled. He could tell she was still wary of him.

“Pengy’s in his office, just go on through,” she said.

Jim raised his eyebrows. “You call him Pengy?”

“I've tried to convince her to stop, but still, she persists,” Oswald called out from his office, through the open door. “Come in, Jim. What brings the GCPD’s finest to my door yet again?”

Jim shook his head as Ivy shook with silent laughter. He left her to paint her nails at the bar and joined Oswald in his office.

“I must admit I didn't expect to see you again so soon, Jim,” Oswald said. He sat behind his desk, pen in hand and a ledger open in front of him. “Are you here on GCPD business or… other business?”

“It could be both,” Jim admitted. “Are you familiar with the Osiris Club?”

Oswald frowned, sitting up and dropping his relaxed attitude. “Yes. How did you hear about it?”

“A man was found murdered in an alleyway close by the club. Christine found the body. She said the man, Alex, was seen there sometimes. I need to get in to find out if anyone there knows something. It might be nothing, but it’s the only lead we have right now, until the ME is done with his examination,” Jim said.

Oswald frowned. “If you want my advice, Jim, wait for the ME’s report.”

“I can’t overlook a possible link,” Jim replied.

Oswald sighed, shaking his head. “A vampire wouldn’t leave a body around to be found. We’re more careful than that, if we do kill.”

Jim nodded. “I know. But this man, Alex, had a wound in his side and may have been on his way to the club, or was leaving it. At the very least, I need to establish a timeline of events, and discover if there was anyone who didn’t like him. Christine said he was a Thrall, like her. What if another Thrall did this to him?”

“Then the vampires will take care of them,” Oswald said. “Vampire, werewolves and everything else that's not human — they’re on the edges of human society. They’ll take part, up to a point — get a job, buy a house, pay taxes, but mostly, they’re outsiders. That means no humans get involved in private affairs. Ever. Even if the victims are Thralls. They may be human, but they're considered ours. This latest victim, he’s not the first among us to be murdered and he likely won’t be the last, and I can almost guarantee you that if his vampire patron knows about this, then it is already being investigated. The GCPD cannot get involved.”

“I can’t drop this case,” Jim replied. “Nor can I allow any kind of vigilante justice, whether they’re vampire or human or anything else.”

Oswald threw his hands up. “And what will you do if the killer does turn out to be a vampire? You can't lock them up without a steady blood supply. Or what if it's a werewolf, or a faerie or a witch? They can all be harder to contain, especially if you don't want to end up torn to shreds or cursed.” He stood up and came around his desk to stand in front of Jim. “Just let this become another cold case. There’s plenty of them in Gotham, after all.”

Jim refused to back down, even when Oswald came close enough that they were only scant inches between them. “Not an option.”

“It doesn’t matter what you want,” Oswald said. “Not this time.”

“Fine. If you won’t help, I’ll find another way,” Jim said. “Maybe Christine knows someone else who can get me into the Osiris Club.” He turned to leave, and made it halfway to the exit when Oswald called after him.

“Wait!” Oswald hurried after him. “Fine. I’ll get you in. It won’t mean anything, they won’t tell you anything you can use, but… meet me here, nine o’clock tonight. I’ll take you to the Osiris Club.”

Jim turned on his heel. He looked Oswald up and down for a moment, judging how serious he was. “Okay. Nine o’clock.”

“Just you,” Oswald said. “I can’t take anyone else. And, uh… Wear something nice, if you can. It’s a classy place, much like mine.” He gave a sarcastic little smile.

Jim rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you later, Oswald.”

He walked away, pretending he didn’t hear Ivy’s stunned gasp of “Oh my god!”

* * *

“ _ Don't _ say a word!” Oswald snapped, pointing at Ivy.

Her delighted grin didn't fade despite his furious, embarrassed glare. “But you have a date!” she said.

“It’s not a date!” Oswald said.

“What's not a date?” Victor asked, wandering in from the kitchens with a large sandwich, and a duffle bag over his shoulder. He'd been collecting protection money for Oswald, and should have been back a while ago. “You don't mind that I raided the fridge, right, Boss? Last guy wouldn't share his fries and I'm hungry.”

Oswald glared at him.

“Pengy has a date with Jim Gordon,” Ivy said. “They're going to some club tonight.”

“What's wrong with this club?” Victor asked. “Or does he kind of put a damper on things? I guess it would be weird to make out with someone when the last guy you had feelings for is an icicle watching over you.” He waved his sandwich at the still frozen figure of Ed Nygma.

“It. Is. Not. A. Date,” Oswald said slowly, in growing exasperation. “Detective Gordon needs my help with a case, and I have kindly decided to oblige him.”

“By taking him to a club,” Ivy said.

“It's an exclusive club, one he wouldn't be able to get into without my help,” Oswald said.

“So, what was that whole thing about ‘wear something nice’? Because that sounded date-like,” Ivy said.

“It was sarcasm! Jim’s entire wardrobe is made up of cheap suits,” Oswald said. “It was a dig at how he usually dresses.”

“Didn't sound like sarcasm,” Ivy said.

Oswald let out a frustrated sound he spun around to face Victor. “Take her home! I want to be left alone.”

“So that you can get ready for your date?” Victor asked.

“Out! Both of you!” Oswald stomped back into his office and slammed the door.

* * *

The medical examiner was done with the body when Jim returned to the precinct. He joined Harper and Lucius in Harvey’s office for the briefing.

“Our victim, Alex, had a bit of a rough night, from what we can tell,” Lucius began. “There was some alcohol in his system, but not a great amount. But there were bruises on his chest, back, and neck, likely from when he was attacked. He also had some defensive wounds on his arms, mostly bruises. It looks like whoever did this was mostly just intent on beating him up. Yet the cause of death is somewhat interesting.” Lucius held up a plastic ziploc bag with what looked like a bloody stick inside. “This is part of the shaft of a crossbow bolt.”

“A crossbow bolt? You're telling me that in a city full of guns, someone used a crossbow to shoot our guy?” Harvey said, disbelieving.

“I did say it was unusual,” Lucius said. “At some point, the end was snapped off, whether through the killer trying and failing to remove the bolt, or when they moved the body in between the dumpsters.”

“So, do we need to find the other piece?” Jim asked.

“If we can, we may be able to get the fingerprints of whoever fired it,” Lucius said.

“I can send some people back to the alley,” Harvey said. “What about Penguin? Can he get you into this club?”

“Yeah. I'm meeting him later tonight and he'll get me in, and only me, though he doesn't think it will do any good,” Jim said. “He doesn't think anyone there will tell me anything.”

“We've got to try, though,” Harper said. “What about this crossbow though? How do we go about tracking down who owns something like that?”

“Weapons stores, legit or otherwise,” Jim said. “I can ask Penguin later if he knows anything.”

As annoying as it was, Oswald probably was the best person to ask about it. The only good thing about the licensing system was Oswald’s meticulous accounting of every license issued and the accompanying details. If he didn't have a record of who had a crossbow, then surely, he would be able to find out. It still stung Jim’s pride though, that he continually needed Oswald’s help. How was he supposed to convince the rest of the GCPD that they should be arresting criminals instead of working with them, taking bribes and doing god knows what else, if even he couldn't avoid running to Oswald for every little thing?

“Great. So, we have a plan then,” Harvey said. “You two can track down weapons dealers, see who knows about crossbows,” he said to Jim and Harper. “Lucius, you can oversee the investigation in the alley, see if you can find the missing piece of the bolt, if that will help the investigation.”

They split up to take care of their own parts of the investigation. Jim and Harper set out to track down any weapons dealer that might know something about crossbows.

They had no luck. Most dealt only in guns and knives, and a few in explosives, but no one had sold a crossbow recently, or any crossbow bolts.

“I think we should leave it for now,” Jim said, after they stepped out of the sixth weapons store on their list. They were working through legit channels first. “I need to meet with Penguin soon, and we're getting nowhere.”

“Sounds good to me,” Harper said. “I could do with a break and some sleep. You sure you'll be okay going with Penguin alone? I hear he's dangerous.”

“I'll be fine. He's had motive and opportunity to kill me before, or to at least leave me to die, but he hasn't,” Jim replied.

“You know, there are rumours about the two of you,” Harper said cautiously, once they were in the car, and no passers-by could overhear their conversation. Jim took he passenger seat so she could drive.

“I know. I've heard some of them. Are you asking me if they're true?” Jim asked.

“Can't blame me for being curious,” Harper replied with a smile.

“I’ve never slept with him. I spared his life, when he was nothing more than a mob snitch, and got caught up in his plans to take over from Falcone and Maroni, the two biggest Dons at the time,” Jim said. “Our paths keep crossing, and while I would rather not have to keep going to him for help, sometimes he's useful.”

“So, he's basically your mob informant?” Harper asked.

Jim shrugged. “It's… not as simple as that,” he said. “We have history, and… it's complicated. I don't think I can explain it all. I don't take money from him, and I won't do favours anymore, because that only ends badly, but he still gives up information sometimes.”

“And takes you out to some very exclusive club,” Harper added.

“To help with the case,” Jim pointed out quickly, but he couldn't help the blush that heated up the back of his neck.

“It does look a bit strange,” Harper said.

“Yeah, yeah… Look, I've got to go home before I meet him. Can you let Harvey know I'll try to stop by the precinct afterwards, if he's still there?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Harper pulled over to the side of the road in a street not far from Jim’s apartment, so he could hurry home, and went back to the precinct without him.

Jim still had a bit of time to get ready to meet Oswald, so once he got home, he showered and changed. He hesitated a moment over his outfit, Oswald’s remark about wearing ‘something nice’ echoing in his mind. Jim scowled at the memory, and dressed in the first clean, ironed shirt and trousers he could find. He was not taking advice on what to wear from Oswald. He would dress as he always did. At least that way he could avoid any further rumours about him dressing up to spend time with Oswald, because Jim hadn't missed the slight insinuation in Harper’s voice, that maybe this meeting was for more than just the case.

The last thing Jim did before heading out to catch a cab to the Iceberg Lounge was warm another blood pack and drink. He wasn't sure if or when he'd have another chance tonight, and the last thing he wanted was to have another episode like the last time Oswald took him out.

Jim grimaced at that thought. No wonder people thought they were together.

After hailing a cab, he made it to Oswald’s club a little before nine. At this time of night, the club was open for business, and music spilled out into the night. Despite the increasing chill in the air, the club's patrons had opted for thin shirts or slinky dresses that did nothing to protect them from the cold while they waited to get in.

Jim skipped the queue, and the bouncer let him in with a curt greeting.

“Boss is waiting for you, go on in.”

“Thanks.”

Oswald watched over his club from a booth set into the wall. Victor and another enforcer Jim didn't recognise flanked him on either side, a subtly threatening presence.

Oswald stood as he spotted Jim, smiling widely, looking almost as eager as he used to in the early days of their acquaintance.

“Hello again, Jim,” he greeted, approaching quickly to meet Jim halfway.

“Oswald. Are you ready to go?” Jim asked. He caught sight of Victor smirking at them over Oswald’s shoulder and decided to ignore it. He just wanted to get this investigation over with.

“I can't interest you in a drink first?” Oswald asked.

“I'm still on duty,” Jim pointed out.

Oswald heaved a dramatic sigh. “All work and no play makes Jim a dull boy. Very well, let me fetch my coat and we shall be on our way.” Oswald returned to his office and returned with a fur-lined overcoat. He gestured to Victor to come with them, and they left together, taking the back exit through the kitchens.

Victor drove them to the Osiris Club, a little way across the city.

“How has today gone?” Oswald asked, once they were in the relative privacy of the back seat.

“Well enough,” Jim replied. “The precinct got overwhelming for a bit. It was… noisier than I expected, somehow.”

“What about feeding?” Oswald asked.

“Some before I left home this morning, and a bit more before coming here,” Jim said. “I'm being careful. I won't take any to the precinct with me until I'm confident it will be safe to do so.”

Oswald nodded. “Good. That's more sensible than I expected from you.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Jim asked, scowling.

Oswald smiled sweetly. “Nothing at all, Jim. But you are rather stubborn, and you did insist that you would be fine taking blood with you.”

“And I will, but not when they're all watching me for some slip up. Harvey is convinced I'm in some kind of trouble with you and the others…” He trailed off, too embarrassed to admit that everyone else seemed to think they were sleeping together. “Well, the others have their own theories.”

Oswald smirked. “I take it you've been hearing some outlandish rumours? No one gossips quite like cops, I find.”

“Yeah, outlandish…” Jim muttered.

He remembered, not for the first time, the way he'd caught Oswald’s eyes sliding down over his body as he ran. It probably hadn't been the first time. And he supposed that their relationship was a bit different than most cops had with mob contacts. Jim didn't know of anyone else who would have thought of sparing Oswald’s life. He didn't know of anyone else in any of Gotham’s gangs that would have helped him get his job back when the commissioner fired him.

And now this. Going out with Oswald to investigate a murder together.

Victor parked the car across the street from the Osiris Club, which was identifiable only by the Egyptian artwork painted across the window above the door — a bird-headed god holding an ankh.

It looked like an ordinary street of large townhouses. None of them looked particularly like a vampire hangout. None of them even looked like a club.

“Wait here, Victor,” Oswald ordered as he got out of the car.

“Will do,” Victor said cheerfully.

Jim followed Oswald across the road to the townhouse, but instead of walking up the steps to the front door, Oswald took his down the steps to the basement entrance just below street level. There were two shield knots engraved in the stone on either side of the door. Sanctuary, Jim recalled. At least he wouldn't be in danger beyond the door.

The man who answered Oswald’s knock was tall and imposing, but Oswald didn't seem in the slightest bit put off.

“Adamson,” Oswald greeted.

“Cobblepot. Or do you just go by Penguin now?” Adamson asked.

“Whichever is appropriate for the situation. Are you going to let us in or not?” Oswald asked, a touch impatiently.

“Maybe. Who's your friend?” Adamson asked, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Thrall or —?”

“Progeny,” Oswald replied. “Sired three weeks ago. Let us in.”

Adamson’s mouth fell open in mute shock for a moment, then his expression clouded over. “The  _ polite _ thing to do would have been to introduce him  _ first _ ,” he said.

“There were extenuating circumstances,” Jim said. “Can we come in? I just need to ask a few questions.”

Adamson raised his eyebrows, but stood aside to let them in. “I bet you do.”

“He's investigating a murder,” Oswald said as the door shut behind them.

Adamson’s eyebrows climbed higher. “What?”

“I'm with the GCPD,” Jim explained. “Earlier today, a young man by the name of Alex was found dead in an alley a few blocks from here. You may know the woman who found the body, Christine. She says she sometimes saw him here.”

Adamson looked between Jim and Oswald for a moment. “You know, most people leave their human life behind when they're turned into a vampire.”

“I'm not most people. Are you able to help, or can you point us in the direction of someone who can?” Jim asked.

Adamson looked amused. “Yeah, okay. Follow me.” He led them down a hallway, shaking his head. “They're not going to like this,” he said. He looked over his shoulder at Oswald. “This is why people call you a troublemaker.”

“Not the only reason,” Oswald said mildly.

Adamson laughed. “Yeah, well, might do them some good. The problem with vampires is that you lot get stuck in your ways far too easily.”

“Our friend here is a werewolf,” Oswald said to Jim. “They aren't the ravening monsters you see in horror movies, but they do still make excellent guards, doormen and so on. Just don't call them guard dogs.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Jim said.

“Appreciate it.” Adamson led them to a door at the end of the hallway, and gestured for them to go through. “Down the stairs, through the door at the bottom. Talk to Michael at the bar.”

“Thanks,” Jim replied with a brief smile.

Beyond the door was a well-lit stairwell, leading down. Jim let Oswald take the lead as they descended. At the bottom, the door led into a wide, open room, with a bar at the opposite side. Wood-panelled columns reached from floor to ceiling, and booths were set back into the walls, with red leather seats and polished wooden tables. Despite the low beat of modern music coming from the speakers set in the corners, Jim had a feeling of having stepped back in time.

There were only a few people scattered around the room, and they all turned to look as Jim and Oswald entered. Oswald strode forwards, unperturbed, to the bar, which was being tended by a young man with dyed blue hair and a pinstripe waistcoat over a pristine white shirt. Jim was only a little surprised to see fridges of blood packs below eye level of the bar, instead of chilled alcoholic drinks, but above that were shelves of the usual assortment of liquor he would see in any other bar. It was a vampire hangout though, so what else would they serve?

“Mr Cobblepot,” the bartender greeted, leaning his elbows on the bar. “Haven't seen you for a while. Thought you weren't coming back.”

“I've been rather busy,” Oswald replied. “A drink for me and my friend, if you please. He'll be having the same as me.”

“Oh, we know how busy you've been,” said a man at the end of the bar. He scowled at Oswald.

“No fighting,” the bartender said mildly, setting a couple of glasses down on the bar, and fetching a blood pack from one of the fridges. “Who's your friend? I haven't seen him here before. Are you new in town?” he asked, directing his question at Jim. He split the pack between the two glasses and nudged them across the bar.

“Uh… no,” Jim said.

“Then the rumours are true and you've gone and turned someone,” said the man at the end of the bar.

Jim became aware that they were the focus of everyone's attention now.

“Yes,” Oswald said shortly. “Now, unless you're going to help Jim with his enquiries, shut up.”

“Enquiries?” asked the bartender, eyes narrowing.

“I'm Detective Jim Gordon with the GCPD. Earlier today, a young man was found dead a few blocks from here, murdered, and the woman that found him said she sometimes saw him here. Now, I don't expect that I'll find all my answers here, but I at least need to know the last time here was here, to establish a timeline of events that would help me find his killer,” Jim said.

“Are you serious?”

Jim looked at the man at the end of the bar. Vampire, he mentally corrected himself.

“Yeah,” Jim said. “I am. The victim was human, and due to the circumstances of the discovery of his death, I intend to investigate this fully, as I would any other crime in this city.”

The vampire laughed mockingly. “Jesus. Michael, why don't you just throw these guys out?”

The bartender shook his head. “Not your call, Damien.” He looked at Jim. “Who's dead?” he asked, as calmly as if he were asking about the weather.

“Christine gave his name as Alex, no surname. Do you know him?” Jim pulled a photo out of his pocket, taken by the coroner after the body had been cleaned up.

Oswald hopped up onto a bar stool, pulling one of the glasses of blood over to himself. He leaned against the bar, drinking and watching Jim silently.

“Alex Thorburn,” Michael said, looking at the picture. “Yeah. Poor kid. You say Christine found him? I haven't seen her in a little while.” He shook his head sadly.

“You did know him then?” Jim asked.

“Yeah. He was here just last night, actually. I mean, he didn't come in because he was alone — Thralls aren't admitted without their vampire patron — but I saw him when I was on my way in,” Michael said. “He was looking for Valerie, but she wasn't around last night.”

“And Valerie is Alex’s patron?” Jim asked, getting out his notebook to write her name down.

“Why are you helping them? Just tell Valerie her pet is dead,” Damien said, scowling. “This isn't a matter for the GCPD, whether the detective is a human or a vampire. The boy was claimed by us, and we'll take care of the matter.”

“Damien!” Michael snapped, slamming his hands on the bar.

If everyone else wasn't watching before, they certainly were now.

“A GCPD officer came across Christine after she found the body, meaning that this is now a GCPD investigation,” Jim said. “And I will investigate fully.”

“You need to quit your job, retire early. We don't need another damn vampire like  _ Penguin _ ,” Damien said, sneering. “Give this up, Detective, and let us handle it.”

“If he didn't listen to me about that, he's not going to listen to you,” Oswald said, watching the proceedings with an amused look.

“This is a sanctuary,” Michael said warningly. “Shut up, Damien.”

“Tch. Fine. When they get us all staked by hunters, don't say I didn't warn you.” Damien slid off his bar stool and strode quickly out of the room.

Michael sighed. “Sorry, he's… well, it's not your problem, really. Look, I don't think I can give you any information the GCPD can use,” he said. “I'm sorry, but this is a vampire matter. Valerie was going to change him soon, he was practically one of us.”

“Tell me what you can. If I can't put it in an official report… well, it won't be the first report to be deliberately missing some information,” Jim said, despite the guilty feeling that bubbled up at the thought of fudging a police report.

“Written by you or just in general?” Oswald asked slyly.

Jim shot him a look.

“Drink up, Jim. Hunger makes you cranky,” Oswald said, reminding Jim of the glass of blood on the bar for him. He had finished his own.

Jim scowled at him, but took a sip regardless. “Michael, anything you can tell me would be a big help.”

“And if the culprit is a vampire? Or a werewolf or something else not human?” Michael asked.

“Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Jim said.

“Jim isn't entirely opposed to… alternative justice,” Oswald said, smirking.

Jim scowled at him. “You are not helping,” he said.

“I'm just saying,” Oswald said, shrugging. “For the benefit of our audience.”

“Nosy bunch,” Michael agreed casting his gaze around the room. “To be fair, we don't get a lot of change in here. “But it's good to know that if your culprit isn't human, you're still open to letting us handle it out own way.”

Jim nodded uneasily. “But if they're human, then I arrest them, same as I would any other criminal.”

“ _ Nearly _ any other criminal,” Oswald added.

Jim closed his eyes and took a breath, counting to ten. This was a sanctuary, he reminded himself, and he was not allowed to punch Oswald, no matter how much he may want to.

“One last thing,” Jim said, once he had calmed down enough. “The medical examiner found part of a crossbow bolt inside the wound. Would know anything about that? Anyone who may use a crossbow? Or anyone that might want to hurt Alex?”

“Alex was a good kid, a bit loud and a bit brash, sort of an attention seeker, but he was a good kid really,” Michael said. “No one here would want to hurt him, and no one here would use a crossbow. That kind of weapon is used by hunters, and if anyone in the city is going to know who uses what weapon, then surely Mr. Cobblepot would know.”

“I don't approve licenses for people who use weapons that could kill me,” Oswald said, a little coldly. “Nor do I approve or supply silver bullets, or cold iron.”

“In that case, there's nothing else I can do to help,” Michael said.

“Okay then. What about this ‘Valerie’?” Jim asked. “Do you know how we can contact her or where we might find her?”

Michael shook his head. “No, sorry. I don't keep tabs on people once they walk out the door. I just mind the bar.”

“Okay. But if you think of anything else, or find anything else out that might be useful, give me a call.” Jim slid his business card across the bar.

“Will do,” Michael said. “And, uh, if you want to come back, learn a bit more about the life Mr. Cobblepot has brought you into, this will get you in until we get an actual membership sorted out for you.” Michael reached under the bar and pulled out a red card with an Egyptian eye. “This will get you in once only. Come back whenever you like.”

“Thanks.” Jim took the card and tucked it safely inside his wallet. “I'll come by soon.” He drained the glass of blood. “Coming, Oswald?” He didn't look at Oswald as he turned and walked out, but he could hear Oswald’s uneven footsteps behind him.

Adamson let them out the basement door with a smile and a nod. “See you gentlemen again sometime.”

Jim smiled politely, then once the door was shut, slammed Oswald up against the wall.

“You need to keep your mouth shut,” he snarled, furious.

Oswald glared back defiantly. “They should know who they're dealing with. If anything, I helped.”

“How do you figure that?” Jim asked. “By making them think I'm your lackey? Don't think I didn't notice that they’re not too happy to see you in there.”

Oswald pushed him away. “They don't like that I have such a public life. They're afraid, that's all.” He straightened his jacket, and readjusted his tie. “And yes, I helped — by showing them that you're not the upstanding, incorruptible cop you make yourself out to be. By showing them that you're willing to bend the rules, they can believe that you will be flexible enough to make certain allowances if you find out that the guilty party isn't some random human.”

Oswald started climbing the steps backup to street level. Jim paused before following him, taking a moment to repress the emotions bubbling inside. If it was just anger, then he could cope, but it wasn't. He blamed the gossips at the precinct for putting the idea in his head, but being that close to Oswald, even though he was angry, he'd still felt some kind of desire to do something  _ other _ than punch him.

It wasn't like this was the first time Jim had noticed that certain of Oswald’s attributes were attractive, but he'd always ruthlessly ignored that part of him. But now that the idea was planted in his head, Jim found himself wondering what being with Oswald would be like. Intense, probably. Oswald seemed like he'd be pushy and demanding, and Jim sometimes liked to tease and deny and keep his lovers on the brink for as long as possible, until —

“Are you coming or not?” Oswald snapped impatiently, dragging Jim out of his thoughts.

Jim flushed red, glaring up at Oswald. He hoped Oswald would only think he was trying to calm his temper, not his libido as well. It was safer to focus on the anger and frustration, instead of his desire. It always had been.

He stomped up the steps to meet Oswald, who looked thoroughly unimpressed.

“If you keep daydreaming like this, it's a wonder you solve any crimes at all,” Oswald remarked,

“Shut. Up,” Jim snapped.

Oswald smirked. “Am I hitting close to home, Jim?”

It was bullshit, and Oswald had to know that. He was just trying to get a reaction out of Jim, and he was succeeding. Jim bit down on the retort waiting on the tip of his tongue and turned away, determined not to give Oswald the satisfaction. He walked away quickly, not caring if Oswald kept up or not.

“I'll make my own way home,” he called over his shoulder.

“Suit yourself,” Oswald replied.

It was a long walk back to his apartment but Jim welcomed it as a chance to let off some steam. It also gave him a chance to get to know the city better with his newly enhanced senses. He could hear music spilling from apartments above with greater clarity, could see things hiding in the shadows that he never would have noticed before. Once his anger at Oswald began to fade, Jim felt more at peace in the city than he ever had before. This was truly where he belonged.

He got home without incident, which was probably a sign that things were going to go to hell in a handbasket sooner rather than later. There was never peace in Gotham for long.

Jim had barely had time to take his coat off before there was a knock at the door. He frowned, not expecting anyone at this hour, and answered the door.

He had opened it more than a crack before it was kicked inwards unexpectedly, and he found himself looking down the sharp, wooden shaft of a crossbow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm absolutely not sorry at all about the cliffhanger. :) 
> 
> Comments and kudos give me life, but even if you read and choose not to leave feedback, please know that I still appreciate you taking the time to read my fic. I hope you're all enjoying it so far, because I'm having a blast when I'm writing it. :D
> 
> Come find me on tumblr at [Emmageddon](http://emmageddon.tumblr.com). You can send me asks and messages on there, if you'd prefer to contact me that way.


End file.
